


all spaces are liminal

by Kierkegarden



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bonding, Bottom Anakin, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Development, Communication, Enemies to Lovers, Hope, Kidnapping, M/M, Obikin Big Bang 2018, Palpatine is no joke, Sexual Content, Sith Obi-Wan, Surprisingly sweet in places, Torture, grey morality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-17 16:58:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 35,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14193495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kierkegarden/pseuds/Kierkegarden
Summary: Three years after the fall of the Republic, Obi-Wan Kenobi hasn’t come any closer to making peace with his new life.Three years after the fall of the Republic, Vader wants the gratification of forgiveness.Three years after the fall of the Republic, time doesn’t bend or break or alter. It simply rushes past those who cannot learn to embrace it.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to give some credit where credit is due. 
> 
> Firstly, endless thanks to my beta editor picavenger14 for being insightful, supportive, helpful, and inspiring. 
> 
> Secondly, thank you to the admins of the Obikin Big Bang - without which I probably wouldn’t have endeavored to write something this long. 
> 
> Thirdly, thank you to my best friend Alanna for being my cheerleader for the past three months. Thank you to the Maul Squad (& assorted others) for letting me brainstorm in the Discord. Thank you to the OBB Discord and all the friends I’ve made through this challenge. Thank you to my loving and supportive partner Tanner, who generated a few great ideas that wound up in this story. 
> 
> Lastly, thank you for reading this. 
> 
> My Tumblr is Kierkegarden, for those interested.

**all spaces are liminal**

**  
** _ liminal _

_ adjective |  lim·i·nal | \ ˈli-mə-nᵊl \ _

_ (latin limin, "threshold"): of, relating to, or being an intermediate state, phase, or condition : in-between, transitional _

__

 

Tatooine was a poor planet, hot and filled with aggressive nomads. It wasn’t rare for Obi-Wan’s mornings here to begin with the shouts of Tusken Raiders skirmishing. It always seemed odd because - really -  there was nothing to fight over here, but they fought nonetheless, simply for want of something to do. It seemed that they would move from place to place to give themselves a sense of purpose, fight to give themselves meaning - as if their nomadic existences were defined by where they made camp and who their enemies were.  Reclining on his cot, Obi-Wan wondered if he could mind trick himself into believing that life on the run meant something worth living for, despite every damned barren sandscape on the face of this planet looking exactly the same. With a wistful sigh, he decided he could not.

Obi-Wan was not a drifter. Even in his younger years when he was always on the move - what an adventure his life had once been - he had not liked traveling without purpose. Flying filled him with nausea and anxiety and, while he had enjoyed the fulfillment that came with missions, it was the destination that held meaning for him, not the journey. 

At least he had purpose then. Staying in this gods-forsaken hovel wasn’t enough for him. Day after day passed, some mornings opening with the sun reflecting off of his windows, others with a gentle wrapping at his door from Jawa scrappers. Shacks, to them, were nothing more than treasure chests with potential on the other side of a kicked in door. Obi-Wan would wield his old lightsaber, making a great show of it, until they went away, leaving him alone with his thoughts, memories, and guilt. Subsisting on Bantha jerky and bland grain as he searched his memories for something that didn’t exist. He supposed it was the same as wandering through the desert sun, scouring the hot and endless stretches for something that may or may not be there. He was beginning to come to the logical conclusion that meaning, for him, just didn’t exist anywhere and the search was hopeless. 

It had been like this for some time, the Master blindly testing different balances of nothingness and pointless searching. It was the worst kind of exile, made worse by the fact that he had entered it willingly. He only hoped something would happen so that he could watch, take a side, have a purpose - even within his own mind. Last time, when he had interfered with fate, it had only fucked everything up. He had lost everything - everyone - he loved. So this was his punishment. 

Twisting the doorknob, he greeted the suns with a bitter smile. It was just the three of them now, three massive burning furnaces of potential energy. Oh, and the boy, probably still sleeping in his crib miles away. Obi-Wan knew better than to get involved there. He was but a guardian, here to ward off any harm that might come to him. Once, he had searched for meaning in a Skywalker boy and it had only broken them both. He wasn’t about to be that selfish again.

 


	2. Chapter I: A Conquest

“Lord Vader, you have requested my council,” the Emperor said, as a greeting and a statement.

Two heavy boots planted firmly on the stretch of carpet before him. Vader bowed low. He wore a belted tunic over his burn compression suit, soft brown waves parted elegantly above a somber expression. It had been five years since he had first been confined to the suit - temporarily, the Emperor had said - a bacta cooling system so that his body temperature could stay level until his burns were fully healed. He still struggled to bow in it. Despite his frown, his presence in the Force was unyielding. 

“With your permission, Emperor, may we speak in private?” It was the only way he could think, could focus on what he planned to achieve. Not to mention, it added a gravity to his request and he could use any means of persuasion he could get his hands on.

The Emperor rose, walking slowly towards the window. With a flick of his hand, he dismissed the guards on duty. They shuffled out of the room, wisely taking care to shut the door behind them.  No mistakes could be made when dealing with the two most important people in the entire galaxy, after all.

“I sense you are feeling...conflicted, Lord Vader.”

His muscles tightened. Conflicted was not the emotional stage that Vader had wanted to set for this meeting, but he could not deny that he was feeling some turmoil within him. Ever since the premonitions had started, he couldn’t properly sleep; couldn’t properly eat. He was more sure of this than anything and yet his stomach wrenched as the emotions within him twisted around each other like vines, trying to strangle the love he still felt, trying to put out that undying flame.

That was the danger of attachment, Obi-Wan had warned him once, when he was another man. His mentor had also taught him that that was the allure of it. So many long nights they’d shared together, training and talking, it all blended together now. The parts that stuck out to him were the gentle afternoons he had spent in his old Master’s arms, the quiet reassurances of forever. 

Then, Anakin had fallen. His training with the Dark Side has taught him to embrace that love and use it. Yet, his attachment to Obi-Wan had never severed, even after all of this time. Even when he had been told that his old Master was dead, he had never  _ truly _ believed it. Against all odds, he felt him on the other side of the galaxy, breathing, living, even sometimes  _ thinking of him.  _ And now, he had pinpointed that location. He only needed to convince Lord Sidious that it was a worthwhile endeavor.

“Conflicted?” he repeated back, as he joined his Master by the window that overlooked the shipyard, “No. I am certain of what I am about to tell you.”

Palpatine’s pallid face was impossible to read. This was not going as he had hoped.

“Do you remember my old Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, my Lord?”

Palpatine sneered. “Of course.”

Of course. Not only had Kenobi destroyed Darth Maul as a functional apprentice, but he had been the strongest obstacle in Vader’s own turning. How many times had Palpatine assured him that his precious Master wouldn’t return for him, once he had seen the destruction young Anakin had left in his wake? Later, Lord Sidious had told him that it didn’t matter, Master Kenobi was gone, extinguished like the Jedi Order itself, in the ruins of the temple from where so much energy was drawn. Dead. 

Vader turned intently towards him, “I have reason to believe that Master Kenobi is not dead.”

Lord Palpatine’s face peaked with interest, “Go on.”

This was the part that would be the hardest to sell.

“I’ve had...premonitions,” Vader continued, “He’s alive, he’s on Tatooine, and he is desperate. I also have reason to believe he could be seduced to the dark side of the Force.”

Palpatine chuckled darkly.

“You still put faith in your old Master? In premonitions?”

Vader was doing all he could to cloak his feelings within the Force but perhaps that alone was enough to give him away. His Force presence shook with a wave of anger as the images flashed before his eyes, the last set of his premonitions and their result. Padme, suspended in his choking grasp, his own children dying within her. 

Vader breathed deeply. Now was not the time. Release could wait. “Kenobi is alive,” he repeated between his teeth, “I assure you, Master.”

Palpatine examined one of the controls on the module in front of him, “And if he is?”

His Master was toying with him. “He could be turned,” Vader repeated steadily, “The Force is strong with him. He is valuable. He --” the apprentice Sith Lord stopped himself before he said too much, “Please, allow me to take my starship to Tatooine. I’ll take it on as my personal project.”

“Personal, indeed,” mocked Palpatine, causing Vader to shudder. A slow smile crawled across his lips at the reaction, “And if Kenobi doesn’t turn?”

Vader felt his mouth go dry, willing his voice to level. “We dispose of him.”

 

\---

 

The Sith Lord had made arrangements for a warehouse in one of the many old industry hubs of Coruscant. He had done so under alias, without informing the Emperor, which he realized later could be perceived as suspect. It wasn’t that he was trying to be secretive, but he knew that they would need somewhere private to talk. The seclusion of the empty warehouse would be his strongest weapon. Obi-Wan would not be keen on sharing quarters with Sith Lords or those he deemed evil…perhaps with one exception. 

In his premonitions, Vader had felt Obi-Wan dream of Anakin, of returning to him, bridging the gap between their worlds. He dreamed of it too. He could remember, just barely, how it was: to love and be loved, to be the most important part of someone else’s life. That was why he had built the landscape for his Master’s holding cell against a background of him and him alone. Anakin had compromised his Master’s once impenetrable Jedi ethics. He only hoped that Vader could do the same. 

Vader had readied the unmarked ship to depart the next morning. He knew this part of Tatooine like the back of his hand and, despite having not been back to since his mother was killed, his premonitions had revealed exactly where Obi-Wan Kenobi was hiding out. Scanning his brain for any details that he may have missed, Vader tried to picture how the meeting would go.

“Master Kenobi,” he would say, trying to emulate the young boy from so many years ago. Of course, it would be hard to pull off after so much had come between them, his compression suit no doubt a reminder to his old Master of what they had become. No, that would never do. 

“Anakin.” Vader couldn’t picture his former Master calling him anything else. Maybe the Jedi would reach for that old lightsaber of his. Maybe he would come along willingly. The Obi-Wan in his premonitions had conflicting intent, much like Vader himself. Sadness with love, rage with focus. Whatever happened - and he was ready for anything - it didn’t matter. All the Sith Lord knew is that he would not leave the planet until Obi-Wan was on his ship, be it in chains if he had to.

He slept fitfully that night, hardly patient enough to wait until the morning, until he would embark on the five day journey. Nerves devouring him, he finally settled into a light sleep.   
  


\---   
  


People rarely disturbed unmarked ships to Tatooine, if one knew where to land. They probably thought he was a smuggler, or a slaver, or worse scum of the galaxy. He would fit in perfectly with the rest of them. For all he cared, they could think him a slave trafficker of Jabba the Hutt, as long as they let him land without any trouble.

The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. It was like Obi-Wan wanted to be found, picking Vader’s home planet to run off to. He knew every secret that the desert wasteland had to offer, every trick to make things go as smoothly as possible. That was a good thing because Vader hated Tatooine and didn’t want to waste his precious time there. He planned to swoop down, grab his old mentor, and leave as soon as possible. It was a haunted place for Vader, suns baking corpses into sweeping sandbanks, memories fighting to disengage. 

It was dusk when Vader approached the planet’s surface. Kicking his spaceship into low gear, he braced for landing and lurched forward too sharply. He felt the hubris of his piloting in the front of his skull - just like old times - as the desolate plain grew closer. He had not returned for a reason, Vader thought, this visit was sacrificial.

 

The shack was smaller in person than it had seemed in his premonitions, but he knew instantly that it was the right one. It stood like a lone soldier in the dusty farmyard, separated only by a thin wire fence from the field of Bantha below.  The door had a distinctive grating and a typical domed thatch roof. It was an ugly thing, really; not much better than the warehouse that would become his old Master’s new home by the time they returned, and far smaller. 

Even despite the ghosts of his past that surrounded him, an affront to every sense, Vader had to admit that the scene was picturesque. The sky was dark and the sand glowed white, reflecting the three moons in an almost ethereal manner. In his young years on this planet, Vader had avoided spending time out here in this waste, but tonight, he navigated through it as though it was his backyard. 

Standing before the door, Vader hesitated. He knew through the Force that Obi-Wan was softly sleeping behind the it and could sense the jolt as he shook himself awake, sensing his approach. Vader had seen his Master awaken from stimuli within the Force before, could see the bead of sweat on his forehead before even seeing him. It was a different kind of bond, Vader thought, a hostile one based solely in memories. Just as he lifted his hand, the door creaked open. A familiar pair of eyes greeted him.

His old Master was like a spirit, standing there in the moonlight. His loose cotton sleep shirt hung low around his neck, revealing two jutting collarbones and blowing behind his torso with the soft breeze. Vader wanted to grab him, it had been so long. Instead, he just stood there, staring blankly.

Obi-Wan’s eyes narrowed, his lips forming a tight line, “Vader.” Reaching behind his back, the Jedi launched forward, now brandishing his blue lightsaber. 

Vader sidestepped the attack, easily setting Obi-Wan off balance. The older man was clearly out of practice and no match for the Sith Lord. He could count himself lucky, Vader thought, that his fallen apprentice had no intention of hurting him.

Pulling the dart gun from his robes, Vader quickly took aim, launching a dart directly into Obi-Wan’s stomach. He toppled over onto himself in a heap, writhing and struggling. It was no use. The immobilizing agent was one of the most powerful non-lethal poisons that the Empire had in its arsenal. Obi-Wan groaned, cursing him under his breath. This was not how Vader hoped this would go - not what he had anticipated. It dawned on him that perhaps he was foolish to expect his old Master to come quietly.

“Master Jedi…” Vader muttered, a stranger in this poor man’s home. He suddenly found himself at a loss for words. What did he expect? For the Jedi to see this dark Lord, the symbol of the fall of his Order, the turning of his apprentice, and come crawling back towards it like a dog? He felt ashamed for his poor calculation. Obi-Wan was stubborn, and strong, and as far as he knew, had only compromised his own moral judgements once before. Why would he now, after all that had happened?

Vader scooped his old Master’s crumpled body up like that of a child, collecting his lightsaber. He half expected Obi-Wan to gnash at him, but the Jedi only ground his teeth together.

“What are you doing with me?” Obi-Wan tried to spit, his words slurring from the effects of the poison. Ignoring the question, Vader carried the snarling man to his ship. He deposited him in empty copilot’s seat and began to calibrate the nearby droid. 

“How did you - How much do you…?” Obi-Wan trailed off, at a loss for words. Vader felt a twinge of pain along his Force bond.

“I’ll let you know when we get there.”

He reached into the lower compartment and withdrew a long durasteel chain. Slowly, he began to wrap it around the Master’s body, taking care to wind it under the straps that kept him secure. 

“Get where?” Obi-Wan demanded, sweating with exertion as he tried to move his heavy limbs.

Vader launched the airship into motion. “We’ll talk when we get there,” he repeated.


	3. Chapter II: A Capture

Five days in hyperspace felt like an eternity. For the whole of the first, Obi-Wan didn’t say a word to him and he kept his Force signature heavily guarded. As the immobilizer wore off the next morning, he had made a desperate lunge for his lightsaber despite his bonds, only to be greeted with a stiff syringe of the stuff in his arm. He had quickly collapsed on top of Vader in a heap.

“Don’t try anything,” Vader’s voice was surprisingly soft as he lifted Obi-Wan back to the ship’s small sleeping quarters. “I have many more where that came from.”

Obi-Wan had been ridiculously easy to capture and he wasn’t proud of that. Maybe some part of him had given up the struggle long ago, or maybe he was weak. _Isolation makes you weak,_ a reasonable voice inside his head argued. _Attachment makes you weak,_ a far more unpalatable one replied. Regardless of the cause, the reality of the situation didn’t sink in until he had tried to fight it and by that time, it was hopeless.

By the third morning, Vader had allowed him to walk freely in the ship, his arms numb and joints aching from their bonds. It was a promise of trust backed by a pair of careful eyes and a hefty collection of syringes. Obi-Wan wasn’t impressed.

“Do you, by chance, have anything more interesting to eat?” Obi-Wan had finally tried midway through day three. Vader had been keeping him on a very bland diet of dairy smoothies and high protein crackers. What do you say to your captor anyway? Do you chat about the weather?

Vader unfortunately did not. He did, however, turn up with an old datapad to keep Obi-Wan busy. The blasted device was probably not used since the Clone Wars and took so long to start up that he had just about given up when he finally saw the input screen. He exhaled in relief.

Over the next few days, Obi-Wan put it to good use as a journal. _Day Four In Hyperspace,_ he wrote bitterly, M _y Fallen Apprentice has decided on casual banter as the appropriate way of communicating with his captive. He still has me tied up and still has my weapon stowed. He will not get a response out of me until I regain full use of my limbs. This is not nearly as exciting as it sounds._  
  
___  


He hadn’t budged since their jump from lightspeed. Five days and two attempts for his weapon later, Obi-Wan’s blood buzzed with the immobilizer once more, his chains pushing uncomfortably into the skin around his wrists and sides. Lips pressed together in an expression of defiance, Obi-Wan’s flesh prickled cold. He had discovered early on that whatever the serum was, it didn’t numb pain or temperature. A pity, he thought sarcastically, he should liked to have been left alone with all of his mental sensations and none of the physical ones.

Vader wasn’t going to kill him, that he was sure of. If he was planning on doing that, he would have already, with ease. Anakin was an impatient person and the dark side of the Force certainly couldn’t have done that quality any favors. The promise of his life, at least for a while, did not soothe Obi-Wan. If he was murdered now, the secret of Luke’s whereabouts would be safe. Being left alive was far more dangerous to the state of the galaxy.

Over the course of these miserable five days, his mind had already jumped from there to the one part he had left to play in this story. _Protecting the boy._ His last assignment, the one task he had left, when he had failed everything else. He could be questioned and tortured and he would not reveal anything about Luke.

Once, Obi-Wan Kenobi would have killed or died for Anakin without a thought.

“That’s your problem,” Mace had said to him in private, “I know as well as you do that you feel an attachment to your Padawan. You’re a good man, Master Kenobi, but you need to disengage from him and focus on your role as a Jedi first.”

He had blushed a deep shade of crimson. “The Jedi Code forbids attachment,” he had managed to get out, as if the suggestion of anything else was insane.

“You and I both know that it’s too late for that.”

Now, Mace was gone. Anakin was gone. All he had left was his promise to protect the boy and this strange man beside him breathing deeply as he silently piloted the airship to an unknown destination.  Obi-Wan would not fail this time.

Vader plunged the ship towards the surface.

“Coruscant,” muttered Obi-Wan, before jolting forward. He held in his gasp, not wanting to give Vader the pleasure. There was no mistaking it, he thought grimly, a bit of Anakin remained below the alias and suit: his piloting skills. Obi-Wan didn’t see a glimmer of his former apprentice anywhere else.

They landed in an industrial hanger. Despite it being the middle of the night, the lights of the city glared bright in Obi-Wan’s eyes. He watched helplessly as Vader dug around in the compartment behind his seat. Anywhere but Coruscant. He closed his eyes. He could not bear to exist within the same galaxy that held the shell of the Jedi temple, the mass grave of his Order. Coruscant was the reminder, the stimulus.

“Oh, am I not secure enough already?” Obi-Wan snapped, “think I’m gonna run away again?” He rattled the chain around his arms for effect.

Suddenly, he went white as the younger man drew a small knife towards his chest. Perhaps he had underestimated the patience of his fallen apprentice. He struggled for the last time against the chains. It was no hope, he was bound, immobilized completely.

“Please,” he begged, breathing deeply through his nose. Perhaps if he stirred a memory - “ _Anakin_.”

Vader cursed under his breath. “Hold still, I’m not going to hurt you.”

The thin fabric of his sleep shirt gave way, cutting easily at the knife’s blade. With Vader’s careful work, it was soon completely removed. With his smooth skin glittering under a thousand city lights, he felt infinitely vulnerable.

“What are you doing?” demanded Obi-Wan, trying to stay level.

“Ssh,” Vader soothed.

He tied the tattered bedshirt around Obi-Wan’s eyes like a blindfold and unfastened his straps, resecuring the chains as he pulled them off. Then, he picked him up like a parcel and carried him into the darkness.

  
\---  


When the blindfold was removed, Obi-Wan’s eyes stung with artificial light. He looked around, trying to get a feeling for his surroundings. It was wide open space with a cold stone floor, a table, a rudimentary portable stove, a conservator and a crude mattress where he had been laid down. The material was rough and itchy against his bare back. He glared at Vader.

“I’ll explain what I’ve gathered so far and then maybe you’d be so kind as to fill in the details,” Obi-Wan spat. He turned his head, eyes widening with its renewed mobility. The stun darts must have been wearing off from top down. If Vader only freed him from the chains…

“You found me,” the Jedi started, “I don’t know how, but you did. You stunned me. You bound me. You blindfolded me. And now you’ve kidnapped me, presumably keeping me in this wearhouse until you find something else to do with me. Unless that part’s already figured out. You’re putting me on trial? Torturing me for information, is it?”

Only then did the realization of the situation begin to sink in. This was not one of Obi-Wan’s nightmares. He was really here, at Vader’s side, to be offered up like a gift to his new Master. The wretchedness of what his former apprentice had become - Force, it became real to him. So many nights on Tatooine, the Jedi would lie awake insistently assuring himself that Anakin was dead. The man stood impassively before him, all the same, albeit waves of hair slightly longer down his back and eyes, hot and shiny like refined citrine.

It was so easy. _Peace is a lie._ The vile words rang in Obi-Wan’s head as the Sith apprentice examined him, no doubt probing for changes of his own. The Order was torn apart, as was Obi-Wan himself, a tiny ripple of history lost. So what did it matter? He began to laugh, first a little and then wildly out of control as he glanced back and forth between Vader and the door. He felt the emotions - the anger, pain, sadness, love - possess him: everything the Jedi Order stood against. He could hardly be blamed, it had been years since he had meditated on anything but his own lack of purpose.

“Are you done?” Vader snapped at him pointedly.

Obi-Wan’s face fell as he managed a bitter smile, “So what is it then? You missed fucking me so much that you decided you deserved another go? Or did I just _mean so much to you_?”

“If you must know,” the black-clad man retorted, “I brought you here to become my apprentice. But it looks like the rage that you possess could be too much for me to work with. Perhaps I should introduce you to my own Master. The dark side is _especially_ strong with you.”

A moment of disbelieving silence and a pang of guilt. He shouldn’t be able to make me feel anything, Obi-Wan thought, nobody should have that kind of power. Even in the days when Obi-Wan had effectively functioned, Anakin had skillfully unwound him, cornered him against his true feelings.

“You kidnapped me so I could become your apprentice,” Obi-Wan smiled, shaking his head, “...so _I_ could become _your_ apprentice.” It was almost cute, in the most convoluted way possible.

“Yes...” The way that Lord Vader stood awkwardly over him - as if he hadn’t suspected a hitch in his plan - reminded Obi-Wan of Anakin.

Purposeful attempts to break the Jedi’s defenses had never been successful. The only thing that could breach those walls were candid moments of honesty. Obi-Wan wondered how someone who had been through so much could lack the foresight to understand liminality. What they had shared as master and padawan - the words so loosely tied to what it _was_ , really - was as dead as Anakin’s mother, Padme, and the entire Jedi Order.

“ _Young one_ ,”  The Jedi’s lip curled as he used the old nickname, “You had to know that I would never agree to learn from you.”

Vader started. “N-No?” Obi-Wan could feel him fighting to not lose his cool, his voice shaking. So he had learned something in his two years of training under his new Master. Or perhaps he just wanted to seem like he had. “It’s come with me or die, Kenobi. That’s an order.”

Stretching as far as his chains would allow him on the bed, Obi-Wan gazed expectantly towards him. “Will that death be by lava or lightsaber this time, my dear?”


	4. Chapter III: Three Days was the Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title guilelessly pilfered from the Jane's Addiction song 'Three Days'. If anyone is interested, I can publish the playlist I listened to while writing this story. Also, here's where I should warn readers that I do not cut any corners when writing a dark and desperate Obi-Wan. Proceed with caution.

The throne room of the palace was more impressive than holos could express. When the makeshift blindfold was pulled from his eyes, he found himself standing in a long hallway. In front of him, stairs led forward to a grand red throne, where Emperor Palpatine was seated, surrounded by red robed guards.

The Emperor stared down the bridge of his nose at Obi-Wan as though he were a specimen by which he wasn’t acquainted. It was not a hostile gaze, but instead one of intent curiosity. He nodded at Vader in approval.

The black-clad apprentice bowed low before his new master, pulling Obi-Wan with him by his chains. It made him desperately want to point out how Anakin would never have been made to bow before  _ him _ , how the entire tradition was a revolting exercise of power - and how could Anakin of all people consent to this symbol of slavery? - but he quickly thought better of it. 

“Master Kenobi, so good of you to come without a struggle.” His feet fell heavily as he walked towards the Jedi.

“Hello there, Emperor. Our apprentice is good with chains.”

He could see Palpatine’s Force presence flair hot at the use of  _ our.  _ So, he didn’t like to share. That was something that he and his apprentice had in common, then. 

“Lord Vader tells me that the Force is strong with you and I can confirm as much. You’ve trained him well,” - Vader nodded his head in courtesy - “of course, I’ve trained him better.”

What could Obi-Wan say? An argument with the most powerful man in the galaxy seemed out of the question while he was chained up like a dog.

“He tells me,” continued Palpatine smoothly, “that he sees potential in you to turn.”

Obi-Wan grimaced. Wasn’t that sweet? It was Vader’s idea to bring him here, after all. How could his old apprentice be so stupid?  _ He must be really desperate,  _ thought the Master, eyeing the Emperor’s sallow cheeks and cruel smile,  _ for something pretty to look at.  _ No matter. Obi-Wan was no traitor. Vader would have to find someone else to do the job.

“Perhaps I did not train Lord Vader as well as you credit me for,” Obi-Wan replied, “I will never turn to the dark side of the Force.”

The Emperor turned to the other man, smugly. “Just as I predicted, my apprentice. Did I not?”

“He needs time.” Vader spoke as though Obi-Wan was not there, “Please give us time.” 

“Three days,” Palpatine replied, “If he hasn’t turned by then, he is more dangerous to us than he is useful. I’ll see to it that he is killed...in a special way.”

The forces of dark and light swirled within Vader’s presence.

“Yes, Master.”  
  


\---  
  


“Three days left to live,” Obi-Wan smiled sardonically, “and you have the pleasure of spending them with me.”

He felt oddly at ease around his old apprentice, no longer afraid of the death that would befall him. The time cap oddly helped, giving the open ended question a firm boundary. He was also overjoyed that the Emperor hadn’t brought up Luke. If this was indeed the only thing he was brought here for, he could easily turn it around. Three days was enough time for that.

Three days wasn’t, as all three of them knew, enough time to turn a loyal Jedi. Lord Palpatine was particularly cruel in that. Even a weak Jedi could resist the temptation of the dark side for three days, even under the mark of death, and Obi-Wan was no weak Jedi. Plus; he had a plan.

Vader, on the other hand, looked more glum than the prisoner. 

Obi-Wan watched patiently as he double-checked for trackers on their way back to the warehouse. They departed the air taxi many city blocks away - yet another precautionary measure - as the driver eyed them both with great interest.

“You will return to the Imperial Capital and forget where you’ve taken us.” Vader suggested, when they departed. 

“I will return to the Imperial Capital and forget where I’ve taken you.”

Obi-Wan allowed himself to be covered in a thick black cloak and led back to the warehouse where he was reward by being released from the bindings. He patted his old apprentice on his shoulder.

“I’m dreadfully sorry that this is not going as you had planned, young one,” Obi-Wan feigned sympathy, “but think of it this way, it will all be over in three days. You won’t have to worry about turning me anymore. Everything,” he gestured to the dingy room, “can go back to normal.”

“You’ll die.” Vader stated flatly.

“And?” 

“Do you not fear death at all?”

“Not really,” he lied and then more truthfully added, “I hope that my spirit will be able to stay separate from the Cosmic Force for a while longer.”

His fallen apprentice started. “What do you mean?”

“It’s a Jedi technique we’ve been studying,” Obi-Wan smiled hollowly, as if there was a  _ we  _ anymore, “It’s a shame you never saw it come to fruition. Maybe I’ll visit you sometimes.”

Vader’s heavy breathing echoed in the huge, empty room, his eyes torn between hurt, confused and angry. “You don’t have to. You could stay here with me. The dark side of the Force, it isn’t like they tell you…”

“Oh  _ Anakin _ ,” Obi-Wan watched him flinch at the name, as he reached out to drag a lazy hand down the burn suit that covered the younger man’s chest. It was insulting, the lack of accountability in Anakin’s eyes, but the desperation resonated with him, “I wouldn’t be visiting you for  _ my  _ sake.”   
  


\---  
  


By nightfall, Vader had realized his glaring oversight. Unlike the night before, where the immobilizing poison in Obi-Wan’s blood had kept him in place, there was nothing now keeping him from running away. Without supervision, the chains could be easily undone through the Force and the locks on the door could be breached as well. Furthermore, he had only arranged for one mattress to be brought to the warehouse. 

As the Emperor’s second-in-command, Vader had the privilege of calling guards to his aid when he saw it fit. Only, he foresaw a problem in that, as well. Even if they were strong-minded enough to override the mind tricks his old Master was so keenly trained in, Vader could not risk anyone else knowing the location of this facility.

If Obi-Wan wasn’t bluffing about not intending to turn, even when threatened with death - Vader seethed as he balled up a fist, punching the wall hard enough to make an echoing boom, causing Obi-Wan’s brow to furrow in distaste - Vader needed somewhere to keep him until he figured out a better plan. For all that he hated the situation, the best way to handle this would be to keep guard himself.

So, Vader decided, leaning back against the wall, he would stay here against the wall until he could purchase another mattress. He breathed out, a slow, almost meditative sigh.  _ Nothing  _ was going according to plan. He should have just left Obi-Wan Kenobi to rot on Tatooine, let his corpse be buried in the desert sand and forgotten about by everyone. That would have been for the best. He cursed his lack of foresight.   
  


\---  
  


As the lights dimmed all around him, as dim as Coruscanti skies would become, dark grey and glistening like a galaxy grounded on the surface, Vader slumped next to the mattress where his former Master was lying quietly. He had removed the dark robes which had been lent to him and was wearing only the thin cotton pants that he had been captured in. The sheet hung halfway off of his bare chest and Vader watched it rise up and down with his sleeping breath. He counted the scars that covered his shoulders, connecting freckles like constellations. He looked so peaceful here, like he had merged with the Force already - a spirit, an angel, no longer troubled by mortal concerns. 

That was when he felt it. First cool along his burned skin beneath his suit and then softly on his lips. A sensation he thought he would never feel again. It was a flutter, the perfect mimicry of shy kisses, but it was touchless. Obi-Wan’s presence in the Force rippled with desire - for him, only for him - and he felt his old Master’s fingers and lips as if they were there, touching his body as it had been before he had been burned.

“ _ Anakin…” _ moaned the sleeping Obi-Wan, as more invisible fingers, tongues and gentle teeth nipped and sucked and stroked him. He felt himself instantly stiffen under his suit, helpless and consumed by desire. 

No corner of him was left untouched by it: a small kiss to the sensitive shell of his ear, breath in his hair, behind his knees - nerves manipulated to  _ feel _ . A hungry mouth over his own, pushing and pushing. The clear distinct grasp of a hand around his cock and then the glowy warm sensation of a mouth - his  _ Master’s  _ mouth - sucking him. The flat side of his tongue dragged teasingly across his shaft, his mind opening wide to the Force, being filled in every way possible until there was nothing left but Anakin and Obi-Wan and entire fucking galaxy in front of them. He felt his climax building to the chants of “Heil the Great New Emperor!”, his back arching, head tilting towards the ceiling. This would be his gift: the Galaxy, every planet, every moon, and all of the power that came with it. He sucked in through gritted teeth - 

And then - nothing.

Obi-Wan turned over peacefully and mumbled something indistinctly in his sleep as Vader watched - helpless. Whispering curses, he softly clicked off his belt, as he decided to disregard his sleeping companion. Taking himself in an artificial hand, he finished the job in two strokes, coming quietly into the blindfold.

Though he could not see it for himself, his old master’s lips curled into a smug smile. It was a survival instinct, yes; a calculated move that he had pulled off without a hitch, but it was also Obi-Wan’s first taste of the dark side, and he had liked it.


	5. Chapter IV: Sometimes You Sulk, Sometimes You Burn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title pilfered from the Radiohead song 'Sulk' - without remorse.

Vader awoke to the sound of the small stove kicking on and jumped in panic. He must have fallen asleep beside the mattress, on the floor. His eyes jolted to the empty mattress at first, as he felt himself fill with dread. Then the smell of sausages met his nose.

“Good morning, Anakin,” the prisoner greeted him, as though every morning began on a bland mattress in a locked warehouse with rehydrated meat links on a tiny, portable grill, “I found some of these in the conservator, hope you don’t mind.”

The Sith Lord nodded in a daze, still processing that his old Master was regularly calling him by his true name, instead of his taken one. He stooped to pick up the chain off the floor, eyes widening on the crinkled fabric that he had been using the blindfold the Jedi. Memories flooded his mind. Coughing lightly, he moved forward with the chain.

“I’m not going to run away, young one,” Obi-Wan assured him, gently, “but I understand the concern. Can it wait until after breakfast? I’m afraid that cooking and eating require full use of both my arms and hands.”

Vader stared blankly past him, nodding down at his mechnoarm. What was his original plan again? To capture Obi-Wan Kenobi and turn him to the dark side so that they could be together until they both returned into the Force, side by side, as old friends? It seemed like a fairy tale. Although he held the chains, Vader felt as though the tables had turned and that he was now the prisoner, and his old Master the captor. 

Obi-Wan dug into the conservator once more, pulling out some fresh water bottles and grainy powder. He hummed to himself, emptying the powder into the bottles and shaking them until a yeasty dough formed inside. With great effort, he shook the dough from the bottles and began to knead it between his fingers. Vader stared intently at the Jedi’s hands as he smoothed out all clumps of powder with a firm, tight technique. He felt his eyes blur on Obi-Wan’s hands, transfixed by the thought of them rubbing lotion into his burned skin.  _ Force _ , he was pathetic.

“So,” Vader cleared his throat, “Do you still want to die?”

Because this is what passed as conversation, now, he supposed. Obi-Wan handed him a plate of fresh bread and sausage.

“It’s not a  _ want _ per-say, but yes, I’d still take it over Falling.”

Vader rubbed the bridge of his nose and began to eat the food ferally. He was starving, having not had time to eat the day before, with his mission and his nerves. Obi-Wan’s act of domesticity made him feel both nostalgic and suspicious. He was sure that it was a power play of some kind and yet at the same time, it seemed harmless.

“You always worried about the Code so much,” Vader reminisced, realizing the moment he had said it that it was not the right thing to say. There were galaxies between bending the Jedi Code and Falling, between their time spent training together and now. Settling back, Vader brought himself to look into his old Master’s eyes. They were guarded and tired, so much more tired than they had been those years ago, when violating the Code was his utmost concern. Back then, his Master would never have played this kind of game with him. To be fair, Vader supposed that back then, he wouldn’t have kidnapped him either. Or bowed to a Sith Lord. The faces of dead Jedi swam through the ghostly barrier between them. 

“Yes,” Obi-Wan finally agreed, pulling him out of his thoughts. He dabbed his mouth with the black robe that had strewn on the floor, “Most Jedi did.”

“It’s a shame that you couldn’t follow it.” Vader stared pointedly at his old Master’s face. Finally, a breach. He could see an old sadness return to those grey-blue eyes, just for a moment, before it vanished into a bitter smile.

“It _ is _ a shame, Anakin, the greatest shame I have ever known.”   
  


\---  
  


The cool air of Coruscant felt fresh against Obi-Wan’s skin, after the heat of Tatooine. He remembered thinking how foul it had been, the last time he had spent time here. There is only so much a filtration system can do for a city planet, he had thought, and while it was safe to breathe, it was most unpleasant. His entire world had been obliterated since then,  _ twice _ now, and city air was preferable to the stale warehouse. He was grateful to his captor, for this small sacrifice. The blindfold had been done away with, and the chains - he was held to the side of his fallen apprentice with his will and the Force alone. He didn’t want to look around. Physical spaces held to memories faster than people did. 

First, they had bought a second mattress. Obi-Wan was half-surprised that, after the events of the night before, Vader hadn’t proposed to share one. He was definitely playing his cards more closely than Obi-Wan was used to. It was a cruel irony that  _ this  _ was what it took to slow him down. By now Obi-Wan had realized that it didn’t matter what kind of Force-user a person was: the great potential that the power unleashed was enough to make one gag on it. Perhaps Vader was simply better adjusted here.

The second mission of the day was to travel to a bar on the lower levels where a rebel faction had been gathering in protest of the growing empire. Obi-Wan felt out of place, strapped and cuffed next to his fallen apprentice, as guards surrounded them, half to protect Vader and half to keep him from running away. As the Sith Lord slowly sauntered into the cantina, back straight and head held high, the entire place fell silent. 

“Where are the rebels?” He asked the barmaid, clenching the Force with his fist around her throat. Obi-Wan felt sick, wishing he could call it off now. As the color drained from her face, he thought was interjecting - “I’ll give it all up! I’ll become your apprentice if you put her down.” Instead, he looked gravely onwards, refusing to avert his eyes. Vader commanded respect, even in these forgotten areas, and if he ever thought of Padme, suspended in the air, and struggling for breath, he didn’t show it. He had always been effective in his cruelty. Obi-Wan watched the scene sadly, regret filling his heart.

When she had led them to a back room, Vader shook the table in his rage. A group of twelve young rebels cowered in fear before him. 

“Lord Vader,” a young man pleaded, “they’re confiscating the Mandolorian blasters we have left from the wars. We only planned to sell the weapons, not to act out against the Empire!”

“Unlicensed arms dealing borders dangerously on treason.” The dark side of the Force blossomed from Vader’s fingertips, throwing the rebel down against the floor. His head smacked against a leg of the table and began to bleed, his eyes fluttering as he struggled to stay conscious.

“We only meant to make a living!” shouted a Twi’lek boy, daring to approach the Sith Lord directly, “but these regulations - this isn’t an Empire! This is slavery! This -” he began to go pale, asphyxiated by another of Vader’s invisible threads.

“This isn’t right!” yelled Obi-Wan finally, beside himself, “release him!”

All eyes turned to him. The Sith’s personal guards drew their weapons on either side. Vader waved his free hand, dismissing them.

“This is business,  _ Master _ .” Vader’s voice was quiet as he let the rebel down softly. The others rushed to his side, holding back tears. 

Obi-Wan’s mouth formed a thin line. “I’m not your Master,  __ Darth Vader.”  
  


\---  
  


His punishment had been the warehouse. The one redeeming bit of it was that he got to drag Vader with him. He would have been flattered that he didn’t trust anyone else to guard him, if he wasn’t so busy being disgusted. The Sith Lord sat across from him, each on their own mattress, an island, a planet, an ideology away.

“I thought I saw the conflict in you, the hint of something good,” Obi-Wan finally felt himself speak, despite his better judgement, “but not with those rebels. You didn’t even hesitate.” he muttered something under his breath. It served him right for reaching back out towards the past, a past that had burned him both the first and second times.

Unreadable, Vader looked straight ahead. At long last, he spoke softly. “You would do it better.”

“Business?” Obi-Wan asked bitterly, the confession catching him off guard, “or murder?”

“Politics.” Vader corrected him.

Obi-Wan frowned. “I’ve never cared for it. Usually winds up being largely about ‘business.’” His face scrunched up as he spat the word.

“That’s why you would do it better.”

He thought about the days when he had been on the Jedi Council - the purpose he had felt, being surrounded by those who he fully believed were doing the right thing. He felt shame as well, for his years served in the clone wars. He had wanted so much to uphold a just world. Was that politics as well? It looked nothing like the Galactic Empire that Palpatine had under his fist. Nothing like the face of a kid, no older than Anakin had been when he Fell, turning purple with lack of air until it became inanimate. 

Vader sighed a low sigh. He looked more like an old man than a boy then, or a boy who had grown old far too fast. Obi-Wan was unsure what had aged him: his power, the Force, the Jedi, the Sith...

“You were a better Master.”

“Obviously.” Obi-Wan said, because he was better. Perhaps not, as he has once thought, because he was a Jedi, and Palpatine was a Sith. Against all odds, he let his attachment to Anakin control him, mold his choices to care for the boy. The Sith did not. 

“You are a better person,” Vader continued.

Obi-Wan flopped down on the mattress, staring at the high concrete ceiling. It didn’t warrant an answer.


	6. Chapter V: Destruction Breeds

It was the last day before Obi-Wan Kenobi’s death sentence. He had slept fitfully that night, facing away from his Fallen apprentice. Burying his face in the thin blankets, he wished for a way out as his thoughts raced erratically. Finally, long into the night, he found solace, timing his breathing to match Vader’s gentle snores. Drifting from his improvised meditation into sleep, he began to dream.

It was the same dream he had had so many times before on Tatooine. The one where he leaned over the volcanic pools at Mustafar, the heavy sulfuric air burning into his face like poison gas. He’d lean so far over that he felt himself losing his balance and then his reflection would fade away as he fell. The last thing he would see before waking up in a sweat was Anakin crawling down after him. Only this time, it wasn’t Anakin. 

“This can only end two ways,” Qui-Gon’s calming voice soothed the burning sensation across his skin, the lava slipping back away from where it came. When Obi-Wan opened his eyes, he saw only the cool, crisp sheets. As he pulled them to his chin, he could begin to make out the shimmer of lights dancing illusively around the dark warehouse.

Obi-Wan sat bolt upright. 

“So it’s die or go to the dark side?” His old Master mused, “and you’re still having a hard time deciding.”

“I’m not made for this,” Obi-Wan confessed, “I’m not made to kill, to consume, to --”

“And he is?” Qui-Gon interrupted, shimmering above the sleeping Vader. He wore his suit to sleep each night, which Obi-Wan had found odd at first, until he had realized that he couldn’t go without it for prolonged periods of time. It made him think of how vulnerable he was making himself.  _ All I’d need to do is take him in his sleep, _ thought the Jedi, somewhat irrationally, _ and he’d disappear. Just like the rebel in the bar. _ It was a strange and tempting fantasy.

“You weren’t made for the Jedi Order either, my apprentice,” Qui-Gon’s voice echoed through his mind, “Nobody is made for anything, you merely make yourself something.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. He had just been lost in a daydream about killing the only remaining person he was attached to - the only person remaining who he had loved. Some Jedi he was. If that even mattered.

“You think I should take him as my Master? That I should become a Sith Lord?” Obi-Wan asked indignantly.

Qui-Gon ignored his question. “I think you aren’t ready to die. There is much you have yet to accomplish.”

 

\---

 

Obi-Wan did not get back to sleep after that, but instead lay on his mattress pondering the conversation, willing his heart rate to slow. As morning came, he watched Vader roll over frantically to check on him, their eyes meeting with a knowing glance. The industrial bustle of the district hummed bleakly through the window and the light pooled over Obi-Wan’s face like a halo. He looked more like a prisoner today - his last day - with heavy bags below his eyes and a wistful frown. 

“Good morning.” Vader said. It wasn’t.

“For the Emperor, I’m sure.” 

His old apprentice didn’t have to ask again today and to do so would be pointless. Obi-Wan Kenobi was not going to use to Fall and they both knew it. He stared miserably out the barred window.

“What are you going to do?” Obi-Wan asked him, softly, getting to his feet. Vader didn’t follow him, but it didn’t matter. He was only getting another water bottle from the conservator. His Fallen apprentice ignored him.

“You aren’t even going to try to escape,” he stated, as if the fact made him angry, “Not even an attempt.”

“You have a stronger will to keep me alive than I do, right now,” Obi-Wan’s tone was surprisingly light, “Which is useful, since you have the power to.” 

Vader straightened, “So you’re just going to let yourself die?”

“Yes,” the older man drew in a deep breath, “but you’re not.”

Vader felt rage welling up inside him. He stood up suddenly and stormed towards where Obi-Wan was sitting. He tore the water bottle out of his hands and slammed it to the ground, because he could. Because he had that, at least.

“What do you mean by that?” he seethed, “Do you dare try to manipulate my mind?”

Obi-Wan slumped over. He looked more serious than usual, but every bit as defiant - as if he had lost a bet and was making the resolve to never gamble again. It was not, however, the face of a man who foresaw his own imminent death. 

“It is no mind trick, my young one. You have already decided.”

“I thought you would  --”

Obi-Wan sighed, interrupting him. “A true Jedi doesn’t bow to threats of violence.”

The Force presence of the black suited man who stood before him was unmistakably Anakin, carrying his body out of the the burning rubble of a starship. His Force presence was Anakin, laughing at a clever remark, before delivering one back. His Force presence was Anakin, sighing in satisfaction as his Master’s soft hands made circles over his bare back. And yet, the man looked on, a grim statue.

“There is no such thing as a true Jedi.”

“There is,” Obi-Wan corrected him, frowning as he remembered Qui-Gon’s unexpected visit, “you just wouldn’t know a thing about him.”

_ And neither would I. _

 

\---

 

The chains had been readjusted around Obi-Wan’s wrists and a new blindfold placed gently around his eyes as he was marched onwards. It was funny how, at losing his sense of sight, he could suddenly hear every creak of footsteps, every slow exhale of his Fallen apprentice’s breath. He could smell the cleaner the droids were using to scrub the windows and bacta lotion that Vader must put on his burns under the compression suit.

When it was finally removed, Obi-Wan drew in a breath. Before him, the great walls on the Jedi temple stood strong and proud, extending pinnacles towards the cloudy sky. 

“It’s...still here,” Obi-Wan murmured, disbelieving. His heart was racing in his chest, as if he was running from the ghosts. As if they could catch up with him. “Why did you take me here?”

“Master Jedi,” Emperor Palpatine’s voice made him jump, staticy behind him, “Welcome home.”

Spinning around to look outside the temple, Obi-Wan saw the holoprojection of the emperor between four red-armored guards. Each set of eyes lingered on him, mocking, hands drawn to their weapons. 

“He hasn’t brought me here so that I could be given a proper ceremonial cremation,” Obi-Wan turned frantically to Vader, eyes wide with confusion, “Why are we here?”

There was no answer. Vader’s shoulders gave a shake, as though coming out of a trance. With clouded, distant eyes, he pulled Obi-Wan with him towards Palpatine’s projection, kneeling low before the Emperor when he reached the bottom of the temple steps.

“Darth Vader,” his Master greeted him, gesturing for him to rise, “I thought it would be beneficial for you to be here in person, as well.

“As you ordered, Master.”

Obi-Wan grimaced and the guards escorted him backwards roughly, prodding him with their pikes to bow before the Emperor. He was sure that Palpatine could sense his efforts to resist within the Force, though he exhibited none physically, following like a limp doll. In return, Obi-Wan could sense the Emperor’s smug glee though his physical face remained flat.

“Lord Vader,” Palpatine turned once again to his Fallen apprentice, “What progress have you made with the Jedi?”

Vader searched for an answer that would satisfy, keeping a level voice. “Master Kenobi has been very difficult.”

“A shame, really,” the Emperor clicked his tongue, “He was so gifted and well-trained within the Force...he could truly have had remarkable strength with the Dark Side.”

Oh. They were talking about him like he was already dead. 

“Why here?” Obi-Wan glared at Palpatine’s looming holoprojection “Surely not to allow me the peace of saying farewell.”

One night, Obi-Wan had watched Yoda sever Anakin’s padawan braid within those walls. The air within the chamber hung thick with the scent of burning hair and extinguished candles. He could remember the unstoppable surge of pride coursing through him, Mace’s eyes shifting towards him. He was naked in his attachment. Again and again, when Anakin had come to his quarters that night, soft clean face in his hands, he had thought it.  _ Force, if I’m not the luckiest Jedi within these temple walls.  _ Now, he was the only one and hardly felt lucky for it. 

Obi-Wan felt dread creep through him.  _ You were a better Master.  _ Vader’s voice flashed in his mind. Then Qui-Gon’s:  _ There is much you have left to accomplish. _

“No,” Vader’s voice was solid and assured. “Let me kill him myself. Slowly. He burned me, reduced me to this and I want to pay him back. He had his chance with an intact body, now let’s see if the Negotiator can still recite his precious Code without a tongue.” 

There was no hesitation - his Force presence as red as the robes of the Imperial guard and just as unyieling as it had been with the rebels. Palpatine laughed darkly, as Obi-Wan shivered.

“You are full of surprises, Lord Vader,” the Emperor started. He looked delighted at the beads of perspiration that bloomed on Obi-Wan’s brow, “but I have other plans. You put on a good show, but deep within you burns a resolution. Let’s extinguish it, now, so we can focus.”

Both Obi-Wan and Vader spun around at a thunderous boom erupting from the southern end of the temple. It was impossible to see, for all of the dust and shrapnel. Vader grabbed a hold of Obi-Wan’s bound torso and pulled him forcibly out of the explosion. Half-dragging the older man’s body, he ran headlong towards the opposite exit. The projection of Palpatine looked on, a smile spreading slowly across his face.

They watched from the bottom of the steps - stone and dirt and dust billowing through the air, thicker than any incense. The Jedi began to cough, his heart beating out of control, loss and searing, spiralling pain coursing through him. He watched it burn, crumbling down in the middle, the foundation around it snapping and following - as each stone gave way to more. A landslide. Another boom and the central spire was flung down too. Vader held tightly around his waist and Obi-Wan fell limb in his grasp.

Qui-Gon’s ashes was interred within those catacombs, the flame of hope resting eternal with his peaceful slumber. 

Peace was a lie.

The flame was extinguished.

The Order was dead.

Obi-Wan could feel Vader’s body shaking gently behind him as the Jedi became the Sith apprentice’s last remnant of his old life.


	7. Chapter VI: Of Time & Space

Vader looked from his trembling former Master to the projection of his current one, smiling calmly as though it were a casual diplomatic meeting.

“What have you done?” he growled, not daring to Obi-Wan go. He was not sure that the other man would stand without his support behind him. His eyes had not left the temple since the bombs were detonated. Body slumped back, the Jedi let out another choked sob.

“The Jedi temple was built over the remains of the temple of the Sith,” Palpatine explained pleasantly, “I thought it would be apt to restore my Imperial Capital as it once was, before the, er, interlopers. I hope that you are not harboring any regrets, my apprentice.”

“Regrets.” Vader repeated, dumbly.

“I understand that that was probably quite hard for you to watch, _so many memories_ ,” Palpatine’s voice was mocking, “I kept you here for a reason, to close that chapter. I’m sure you’re also seeking desperately closure, Lord Vader.”

The holo crackled as a bit of dust hit the receiver.

“Your last loose end is in your arms, my apprentice. Cut him down. Kill him. Prove yourself loyal to me.”

Obi-Wan’s weight in his arms was unbearable, as Vader maneuvered him forward and down onto the ground before him. His breath was ragged and eyes trained on Vader’s face - the eyes of a scared and guileless child buried somewhere in his dampening ones.

“Anakin, please,” Obi-Wan begged, “There is good still left in you.” The words felt crafted, as if he didn’t quite believe them himself. Vader drew a lightsaber - snapping icy blue before him - his own. Vader was going to destroy him with his own blade. Eyes shut tight, Obi-Wan flinched at the heat of the plasma as his nose filled the smell of melting metal. The breeze blew through his thin black robes, which were as unfamiliar to him as the man who stood before him.

He breathed. The bindings at his wrist were severed.

“Go.” Vader’s voice sounded hollow, as he switched it off. Obi-Wan called for it through the Force, pulling it easily from Vader’s gloved fingers.

“Leave!” The Sith Lord drew his own weapon, switching on its burning red blade in just enough time for Obi-Wan to get to his feet. He lunged at his old apprentice horizontally -- attempting to block him from stampeding forward towards the guards. The whoosh of the plasma blade cut through air. Instantly, Obi-Wan felt his entire body being flung backward through the air, until he snapped back, landing firmly on his feet.

Obi-Wan looked back to where his old apprentice stood. The holoprojector was destroyed and with it, Palpatine’s gaze. There were three guards standing beside him and one in the air grasping at the invisible hands around his throat. He bounded towards them, as the clone dropped to the ground. “What the blaze are you doing?” he yelled over the sounds of the red blur deflecting three pikes.

Vader slashed the laser down through the arm of a guard, knocking both weapon and limb to the ground. With a flick of his wrist, he swiveled the lightsaber around to swing through his head. “Letting you live!”

Obi-Wan didn’t have time to respond, as both guards ran towards him, leaving Vader in their wake. Using the Force to propel him, Obi-Wan jumped up into the air and swung at the first, cleaving straight through his armor. He pulled the plasma blade back with a sickening _thunk_ as the upper half of his body toppled from his legs.

The Jedi spun wildly around towards the other, just in time to see the tip of Vader’s red blade pierce through his body from the other side. As his old apprentice recalled the hilt, the guard’s body piled atop the other in a heap. There was no time to admire his handiwork.

“Get to that speeder!” Vader yelled from behind him.

They sprinted towards it, strapping themselves into position and quickly launching forward. From the corner of his eye, Vader saw the civilians pour out from nearby buildings, drawing in gasps at the massacre.

Vader had made his decision. They trembled as they flew.  
  
  
\---  


“We’re stuck here together now.” Vader sat with his back to his old Master, running his fingers through his long brown hair. He had half expected Obi-Wan to reply with a quip - an “Ah, lovely to have a partner in exile” - something to make the gravity of the situation fall away. He didn’t. Instead, the Jedi began to pace across the length of the warehouse. Vader turned to watch him.

“What can I do for you, Master?” Vader asked. He estimated that it would only be a few days before they were found here but the urgency had not yet sunk in. He was still processing all of it, the gravity of his choices. They were both outlaws now, and enemies of the Empire.  Vader had no stakes in the battle, no ghost of a motive, and no purpose to return to. Just pure concern for a man who had once loved him back.

“I can find somewhere isolated,” Obi-Wan muttered, “somewhere on the Outer Rim -”

“In time,” the old burn scars twinged under Vader’s suit, “We have a few days at least.”

“Mm,” Obi-Wan made a noise of affirmation, face softening slightly, as he looked directly at Vader, “I should say thank you. For saving my life, even if you were the one who put it at stake to begin with.”

“Just like old times,” Vader brushed a strand of sun streaked hair from his eyes and Obi-Wan smiled at him, the first smile that reached his eyes since he was taken. Vader caught it and a rush of satisfaction coursed through him. It seemed, in that moment, that only weeks had passed since they had woken entangled on Anakin’s bunk on The Resolute.

“We’ll need a plan, though,” Obi-Wan’s face soon sunk once again into thought,  “and quickly. I need to know...if I can trust you. You are going to be even more valuable to the bounty hunters than I am.”

“My loyalties are to here, to you.” Vader didn’t want to think of a plan and instead would have preferred to bask in his memories, “What else do I have?” Everything was nice in the isolated universe of this warehouse, so simple and unassuming. He was tired and sore and his head was still ringing with the shrieks of those guards.

“Tomorrow, we can plan - or in a few days. Hm, maybe in a week.” Vader urged. It’s funny, he thought, how you can sense a single decision changing the rest of your life. He had felt it only a few times before, once when he had first joined the Jedi, and when he had killed Dooku. He had felt it burn strongly in his gut when he had faced off against Obi-Wan on Mustafar, and now, perhaps the strongest yet.

Obi-Wan sat beside him on the mattress. “We can’t stay in this warehouse forever, Anakin.” His voice was as soft as his fingertips brushing Vader’s hair behind his ear.

“Why not?” Vader felt himself smiling at how ridiculous his own question was, as he leaned into Obi-Wan. They sat like that for quite a while and then reclined: two men with no place in the world and nothing left for them, no map, and no plan.

 

\--

 

“It’s dark,” Vader finally murmured into his neck. It had seemed like an eternity in silence pressed against each other on the bed. They must have fallen asleep like that and now, half awake, Obi-Wan could see the dwindling burst of sunset through the window painting Anakin’s face luminescent.

The Jedi didn’t quite know what to think of him anymore. He had no guide for where he should stand with his old apprentice. Logically, there was no trust between the two of them and yet, with Vader’s feelings so free and open within the Force, there was intention to his vulnerability. Obi-Wan felt a strange wave of pity, followed by an undercurrent of hope. _I had never given up on him,_ he thought, _not really._

Vader - Anakin, he supposed - let out a small sigh. “Do you still want to make a plan?”

“It can wait until morning,” Obi-Wan said, pulling himself up, “Why? Have you had an epiphany?”

Anakin pulled his head into Obi-Wan’s now-available lap, which resulted in a startled “ _oh”_. The thick material of his compression suit dug painfully into Obi-Wan’s thigh and his eyes, wide and blue with flecks of gold, looked up towards him. “I have a few ideas,” he purred.

Obi-Wan let out an unlikely laugh, but it stopped short in his chest as he felt himself being pulled down into a kiss. He pushed himself upright abruptly.

“Anakin…” he started, frowning. Perhaps he had gotten the wrong idea. They had only fallen asleep together from exhaustion and that _night_ , that was merely a survival instinct. Obi-Wan knew Anakin’s weaknesses and had played them, had opted for a negotiation instead of giving away his life.

Anakin rolled onto the floor in front of the mattress, making a firm, resounding thud. Chin resting on his arms, resting on the mattress, he looked up at Obi-Wan with a plaintive gaze.

“Please,” he whispered, “let me redeem myself.”

His eyes, so distant and terrifyingly close, told the story of someone who was clawing his way out of Chaos. Obi-Wan frowned, the conflict brewing within him.

“Anakin…”

“Anything,” Anakin eyes flashed dangerously, “Anything to redeem myself.”

Obi-Wan shuddered, Anakin’s intense gaze penetrating him all the way through, assuring him. _I’m fully yours if you’d let me in._ Jedi don’t take things for themselves, but he was far beyond that; and Jedi were going to become a legend. Obi-Wan wondered if he was ready to just exist as he was. He wondered, for the first time since he was a padawan, _who_ he was - without the decorations of banter and code. If _this_ was who he was, well, he would say Force help him but he knew he’d find no solace in it.

“Alright, Anakin,” he steadied his voice to a command, “Redeem yourself.”

Anakin’s eyes fell low, low, down past where Obi-Wan’s feet stood firmly planted on either side of him and shot up to meet his. His gloved fingers brushed closely against where Obi-Wan’s borrowed leggings were beginning to tent and using the leverage of the mattress, pulled himself up to claim his lips in a kiss. He pushed Obi-Wan back on the mattress against the cold wall, and just barely parting his lips with his tongue, he disengaged with a over-satisfied sigh. His lips travelled in a trail of tiny nips down Obi-Wan’s neck and back into the scruff of his beard, where he paused to take in his familiar scent.

“ _Anakin_ -” the name ghosted Obi-Wan’s lips, barely a whisper

“Force, I would do anything, I’d give you anything, Master - let me _taste_ you again,” his fallen apprentice interrupted him, breath impassioned and hot against his ear.

Obi-Wan felt his pulse from his neck where Anakin was now biting, felt it in his wrists, and behind his knees. _He would do anything..._

“Stop.” Obi-Wan commanded, because he knew Anakin would listen and not because he really wanted the sensation to end. Anakin released him, eyes gleaming, pliant and waiting for his next order.

Obi-Wan tentatively removed one of Anakin’s gloves, to grasp the mechanical hand beneath. “You could bring me the galaxy,” he whispered, “and it wouldn’t change the things you’ve done.”

Anakin frowned, caressing Obi-Wan’s cheek with his ungloved hand.

“It’s not that simple, Anakin,” his old Master continued, “you’ve threatened my life and saved it twice over - you’ve given me something I could have never imagined and then just as quickly taken away everything I had.” he shook his head, as if holding back the thought.

“It’s different now,” Anakin protested, “It’s just you and me now, us against the rest of the world.”

Obi-Wan turned to face him directly, voice shaking, “It’s not just you and me. This warehouse is a liminal space. You love it because it shields you _from_ the rest of the world - a world in which we are both wanted men.”

“Let me bring you the galaxy.” Anakin’s voice was as pleading as his metal fingers cupping Obi-Wan’s face, drawing him nearer, “We can take this world as our own, make it better, like you always said. Put your faith in me. We can dethrone Palpatine and _you_ can be my Emperor.”

A shiver.

“You have either been corrupted by the dark power you’ve experienced in your time training with the Sith lord,” Obi-Wan shook his head sadly, “or this warehouse is doing worse things to your mind than I had previously thought.”

Anakin looked indignant, “Why is it corrupt to want to make a better world?”

At that, Obi-Wan felt a strong sense of sympathy. “It’s not the why, it’s the how.”  
  
  
\---  
  


They lay on the same mattress that night, the space in the middle only a narrow channel between two great continents. Just as sleep was starting to claim Obi-Wan, he felt Anakin stir. He looked back at him, face soft and relaxed as his hair billowed to either side.

“Master?” His old apprentice’s eyes blinked lazily open and then shut again.

“Hm?”

“What did you mean earlier when you said ‘this warehouse is a liminal space’?”

Obi-Wan groaned. He had just about fallen asleep too, had just shaken the image of the temple from his mind. “A liminal space exists between two destinations. It’s...transitory.” He wasn’t awake enough to properly explain this and he didn’t particularly want to. Of course, Anakin didn’t seem to notice.

“By that definition wouldn’t all spaces be liminal?”

Obi-Wan thought about it. “No. Destinations aren’t liminal spaces. Liminal spaces aren’t about themselves, rather, they’re defined by what comes before and what comes after.”

“But Master,” Anakin argued and Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, “Even destinations exist as points along a timeline.”

“Yes, I suppose that from a certain point of view, all spaces are liminal.” It wasn’t worth the argument, especially not at this hour. Obi-Wan was just about to roll over again when Anakin continued:

“Then why are you so sure you aren’t made for politics?”

Silence.

Obi-Wan felt a jolt of anger course through him as he breathed it away, letting it slip back into the Force through his exhale, “Force, Anakin, I don’t know how that’s related and I don’t want to know. It’s late and I’m going to rest. Goodnight.”

He would have been lying if he said he didn’t picture it just before he fell out of consciousness; sitting on that grand throne with Anakin at his side, giving the galaxy the justice it so desperately needed. A testimony, Obi-Wan thought, to the insanity that his life had become.


	8. Chapter VII: A Direction

Obi-Wan was still shaking the sleep from his eyes when he found the datapad in a drawer by the stove. He had been looking for tea to no avail - even caf would do - but none of that either, and he settled for updating the journal until Anakin was awake.

_ Day Five on Coruscant after being kidnapped by my Fallen apprentice. Things are certainly more eventful than the ride over. Apparently, I was brought here because he thought that I could be seduced to the dark side of the Force in only three days. I think he overestimates his influence over me. I also think he thought that I would be happier to see him.  _

Obi-Wan paused for a moment, unsure of how to explain the events of the past few days. Each time the image of temple’s destruction replayed in his mind, he replaced it with the feeling of Anakin’s arms holding him tightly. He wasn’t sure how to classify the feeling. Pride? Relief? Dread? It was probably some concoction of all three. He picked up the datapad once more.

_ Anakin has changed so much and yet, he has not. I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t somewhat pleased by that. He threw away everything he had here - his power, his Sith Master, his growing Empire - to save me - _

It occurred to Obi-Wan then that Anakin would likely read this if he saw the datapad in use. He stopped himself from what he was about to write and continued instead:  _ but still doesn’t have the decency to leave me tea. It will be a long journey out of here without that small comfort. More later, as this wild saga of my life on the run progresses.  
_

Whenever he tried to reconcile that they were the same, Vader and Anakin - their names like oil and water - Obi-Wan felt himself burrow deeper in layers of sardonic irony.  _ “My Fallen apprentice”  _ was the happiest medium he could find between the two polar extremes. Life debts aside, there were certain things that he could not bring himself to forget. 

Obi-Wan put down the device as he heard a stirring from the mattress. Walking over, he saw Anakin, all messy hair, covered to his chin in blankets blinking tiredly up at him. 

“Morning,” his old apprentice leaned his head back on the pillow, stretching comfortably. Perhaps because the memory was still fresh on his mind, Obi-Wan could imagine an Anakin who had never Fallen, an Anakin from when the name gave him a feeling of pure warmth instead of turmoil. He was all light blue within the Force, an honest presence. 

“I sense you slept well.”

“Mm,” Anakin replied with an affirmative noise into his pillow and pulled himself up, rubbing his eyes, “Ready to make a plan?”

Obi-Wan laughed. Anakin certainly didn’t look ready. His staticy hair was standing up in the back as he moved past Obi-Wan towards the refresher.

“Go get washed up, and I’ll make us some breakfast. After we’re fed, we can plan.”   
  


\---  
  


It didn’t take much time to knead a new batch of instant bread and to match the preserves he found in the conservator. Against his better judgement, Obi-Wan found himself humming as he did so.  _ Domestic _ was the word that came to his mind, and he shook his head as he remembered that  _ kidnapping  _ and  _ Wanted _ and  _ Domestic  _ really don’t have any right to be in the same sentence. Like oil and water, he thought again.

Playing with the dough in his fingers, Obi-Wan decided to repurpose his thoughts elsewhere. He racked his brain for the perfect planet where they could hide. He tried not to think of the Twi’lek boy’s face in the bar, Palpatine’s jeers through the holo. It was not like a Jedi to turn a blind eye towards dictatorship and corruption. How different it would have been, if more of them had survived. 

“Obi-Wan!” 

Obi-Wan jolted out of his thoughts at his name. He rushed to the refresher where Anakin was calling to him, returning the partially kneaded dough to the conservator. 

“Yes?”

The door was left partially ajar and Obi-Wan stood by it hesitantly. He had wondered why the shower was ever installed in this warehouse to begin with. Perhaps, it had been a service to the laborers who had once worked within. Either way, he thought to himself, he was glad that Anakin had at least had the courtesy to make  _ that _ arrangement for him.

“I - er,” Anakin’s voice called out over the water, “Could you come in here?”

Obi-Wan laughed incredulously, “What could you possibly need help with?” 

He pushed the door in and felt a wave of steam hit his skin. Anakin’s burn suit was hanging neatly on the door, and Obi-Wan felt a wince of sympathetic pain as he imagined how running water must feel on Anakin’s skin.

“Um,” Anakin started, “Well, previously, I had my guards to help with this but...I’ve gone several days without and...I am supposed to rub my burns with lotion after I wash them...but that’s not an option to me anymore, and I was wondering if -”

Obi-Wan swallowed. He had yet to see Anakin’s body after the damage that he had inflicted.

“Yes, of course,” he answered, “whatever needs to be done.”

Reaching out an arm for Anakin to steady himself, he looked away as Anakin reached into the drawer for lotion. 

“Gentle,” he warned, and Obi-Wan thought again, “ _ Domestic” -  _ as he turned to lay his eyes on Anakin’s naked form. He stopped himself from drawing in too deep of a breath. An uneven line on Anakin’s neck divided his untouched and mottled skin, the burns covering much of his chest, abdomen, and legs. Obi-Wan was surprised at how lean Anakin had become, the suit giving the impression of a bulkier man beneath. 

“Just...hurry up,” Anakin snapped as he noticed Obi-Wan’s expression of concern. He handed his old Master the tub of thick white lotion and Obi-Wan started to lightly massage it into his shoulders and arms, stopping where his mechno-arm began. 

“Is this a good pressure?” The texture of the burn marbled beneath his fingertips as he rubbed the lotion lower, over Anakin’s chest. Obi-Wan could feel his ribcage through his skin, a ladder towards his stomach, where the Jedi lingered for a moment, unsure.

Anakin responded with a satisfied purr. 

“You’re enjoying this far too much for my liking,” Obi-Wan whispered, because it was the sort of response he was supposed to have.

  
\---  
  


“ _ Now _ , we think of a plan,” Obi-Wan spread a bit of preserves on his bread, as Anakin joined him by the stove. He glanced at the chrono on the wall. It had already been an hour and his hands were rather sore from massaging dough and Anakin.

Anakin took a bite and glanced upwards in thought, “I’ve been tossing a few ideas around, but first, is there anyone you know who can help us?”

“I don’t really have many people who I can call in favors from, anymore,” Obi-Wan said, thinking back to his farm on Tatooine for the first time since his capture. He supposed that it had already been looted and trashed, “and even fewer who would be willing to grant  _ you  _ any favors.” 

Anakin shuddered at the blame that laced his words, “I guess we have no choice then. We’ll have to start fresh and focus on where Palpatine wouldn’t look.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “I’m all ears.”

“My first thought is Alderaan, especially if you can negotiate something with Bail.”

“Hm,” Obi-Wan struggled to keep his voice level as he felt himself go cold, mind buzzing with memories of Luke’s twin sister, “Why Alderaan?”

“Well, for one, convenience,” Anakin grinned sheepishly, “I have the navigation routes to it in my ship already. I had heard talk of a Rebel outpost and I was going to go investigate before…” he trailed off.

“Wouldn’t that tip off the Emperor to check Alderaan first?” Obi-Wan took another bite of bread and chewed thoughtfully.

“Not really,” Anakin replied, “I used to tighten Imperial security without his orders all the time. I was more than just his dog, you know.”

Obi-Wan recoiled. He didn’t want to think about it. “Perhaps somewhere that isn’t in the Core,” he recommended, “Do you have any other coordinates on hand?”

“There’s another planet I had a lead on. It’s in the Sith Worlds region of the Outer Rim - strong in the dark side of the Force so I didn’t think you’d be interested - It’s called Begeren.”

The name sounded familiar, but only from Obi-Wan’s early days studying at the temple. The planet had a history, if he recalled correctly, seized by the Republic only after the Sith Empire’s defeat in the Great Hyperspace War. It seemed like a strange place to build a rebellion and stranger yet for an escaped Jedi and defected Supreme Commander to hide out. 

“We are better off going with the Outer Rim, even if the planet’s history is darker. Is there anything else that we know about Begeren?”

Anakin stretched and shrugged. “It’s a mining planet? We should be able to find simple livelihoods and live in hiding fairly well.”  
“I suppose that would suit our purposes.” Unfortunately, Obi-Wan couldn’t think of a suitable alternative. He didn’t like the idea of a Sith World, nor did he particularly like the sound of mining work. _It’s better than exposing Leia,_ he admitted to himself _, better than returning to Tatooine, and_ _better than being alone._


	9. Chapter VIII: A Happy Landing

_ Five days in transit between here and the Outer Rim is a lot better when you are going willingly, _ Obi-Wan typed vigorously on the datapad. Getting everything ready had been the hardest part. He had gone in disguise to retrieve rations for the journey early in the morning and passed by imperial troopers flashing portraits of him and Anakin to a pair of passers-by. Quietly slipping by them, he had managed to make it back to warehouse undiscovered. The experience had left Obi-Wan quite shaken and was certainly a reminder of how pressed for time they were. 

The actual launch, however, had been exhilarating as it was nerve-wracking. Obi-Wan lurched back, admiring both Anakin, in the pilot’s seat of the light freighter, brow furrowed and the warehouse fading from their vision. 

_ I won’t miss that damned place,  _ Obi-Wan had written,  _ I should like to have a solid home again. _

Now, almost five days into the journey, Anakin was sitting beside him as the blur of hyperspace whirred past. There was still what felt like an eternity between here and Begeren and Obi-Wan longed to be grounded for longer than a refuelling break. The coordinates in the trajectory were set to autopilot and nothing suspicious had come into their view. Anakin rubbed his eyes, head resting gently on his hands, and yawned.

“Sleep.” Obi-Wan ran a gentle hand through his hair, “I can watch for a while.”

Anakin shook his head. “It will be even more boring if it’s just you sitting out here.”

Obi-Wan stifled a laugh. Two wanted men escaping the gasp of a corrupt empire sounded like the subject for a pulpy holonovel. In reality, it seemed his time was split between quiet mourning and mundane tasks. Similarly, nobody would want to read about the way the artificial light picked up Anakin’s hair better than dawn when he was still asleep - but that was Obi-Wan’s favorite part of these past few mornings. A good backdrop for writing, he thought.

“Just go, Anakin, I’m no stranger to boredom.”

Anakin turned to look at him, his interest peaked. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, what were you doing on that ranch on Tatooine anyway?”

“Farming banthas,” Obi-Wan felt a warm smile creep across his lips, “if that gives you an idea of how well acquainted I am with doing nothing.”

Anakin shot him a suspicious glance but didn’t push it. “Well then,” he grinned, “Obi-Wan Kenobi, simple bantha farmer. I can see it.”

“I’m not even going to ask what that means,” Obi-Wan could be spared both descriptions of his age and lack of purpose. 

Anakin pulled him down into the co-pilot’s seat, with a chuckle, and leaned in to plant a kiss on his forehead. His lips still felt alien, but Obi-Wan was growing more accustomed to casual touch again. The brush of hands sharing food. Space was lonely, Obi-Wan told himself, and so cold. Colder than he had remembered.

“I only mean to say that I could see you in a variety of positions, Master.”

Obi-Wan didn’t know if this was a reference to their conversation about politics or an even more ridiculous innuendo. Perhaps both. 

“Don’t push it, Anakin,” Obi-Wan’s eyes narrowed but his smile hadn’t left his face, “You’re tired. Sleep.”

Anakin shot him a look as if to say he counted that as a win, and rose, heading back towards the ship’s quarters. “As you wish, Master.”

The past few days had been this way, an artificial rendition of their previous relationship. While it was certainly crafted, carefully tiptoed around and shaped to fit older bodies and sadder minds, Obi-Wan couldn’t help finding comfort in it. It was a game of pretend that felt like a seed.   
  


\---   
  


“Anakin! Anakin!” Obi-Wan’s shouts startled him out of his sleep. Vader jumped to his feet and booked it into the main compartment, where his old Master was calling for him.  He could tell from the air pressure and shift in the Force that he had slept through their jump from hyperspace. How long had he been out? Over twelve hours at least, he figured.

“There you are,” Obi-Wan motioned for him to come closer, “You might want to take a look at this.” 

The sensor suite was picking up the presence of two other ships incoming. Vader felt his heart race as he tried to make sense of it. Was this a trap? Had Palpatine known of his plans to come to Begeren and stationed his men here to intercept them? 

“Turn around!” he snapped, “we need to get back into hyperspace immediately!” 

“Anakin, we don’t know who these people are,” Obi-Wan gestured for him to sit, “I’m going to need you there to man the ship’s blaster, just in case.”

“NO! We need to move  _ now, _ ” Vader jerked the pilot seat where Obi-Wan was sitting. The starfighters were definitely aware of their presence as well, Obi-Wan turning wide towards towards starboard to evade them, “Let me fly it then!”

_ Treason treason treason  _ ran through his head, the consequences of his decision to save his old mentor’s life coming alive before him. He forcibly leaned over Obi-Wan, trying to take the controls.

“ANAKIN. BLASTERS.  _ NOW. _ ” the Jedi commanded, his usually soft demeanor tossed aside in stress and anger. He swung the ship around again, tilting it under one of the starfighters, trying to squeeze through - when a third starfighter came into their view. 

“Blast!” Obi-Wan yelled, “Anakin?!”

Vader ran headlong towards the blaster controls as the whole ship shook violently, the loud boom of enemy fire clashing into a cacophony of debris. Their wing was blazing down below them, as they plummeted towards Begeren’s surface. As the dark vacuum of space spun around Vader, he felt his hope consumed. They were going to be tortured to death, plain and simple - if they didn't’ die in the crash. It was probably better that they did.

“We’re going down!” shouted Vader hopelessly, securing himself for what would certainly be painful. Pieces of the ship flung violently around them as Vader tried desperately to get a hold of the Force to brace himself and Obi-Wan against the blow. Space flew by. Vader sucked in a breath.

The ship hit the ground with a loud and gut-wrenching force, both men lurching forward. Splinters of glass and metal flew all around them, unavoidable as the nausea rising in Vader’s stomach. As he covered his head to avoid them, he felt his neck snap forward towards the console, knocking his head hard against the front. He could feel something warm and metallic-smelling drip from his hair.

“...happy...landing…” said Vader weakly, knowing somehow that this was not the right time to joke and yet doing so anyway. He paused, remembering a much younger Obi-Wan criticizing him for crashing the ship on every other mission. Obi-Wan! With his last ounce of energy, Vader turned to where the Jedi has been sitting. Obi-Wan was moving slightly underneath the rubble and groaning. 

_ Still...alive... _ Vader smiled, feeling the sensations of pain fade from his conscious mind. 


	10. Chapter IX: Begeren

“Darth Vader, the Defector,” the strange female voice murmured over him. As Vader slowly hovered through consciousness, he tried to place it. He ached all over, particularly from his head, where the cooling sensation of a bacta patch could not outpower the pain of a deep wound. He struggled, his eyes flickering, adjusting to the bright sunlight coming through the window.

Where was he? His eyes darted around, struggling to focus. The room was sparse and small with pipes along the ceiling and a light grey sheen to the walls. Medical tools were hanging to his side and there was a scanner beeping over him. He was reclining, held in place on a narrow bed, with a matching one empty beside him and - his eyes settled on a short, thin woman with blond hair in twin buns and beakish nose - who was she? 

“What’s...going on?” Vader said, his own words sending him back through his memories. He had fallen asleep and then - no...

It came flooding back to him: the warehouse, the getaway, the five day journey and the crash. They must be holding him there until Palpatine arrived. 

“Where’s Obi-Wan?” he barked, trying to sit up, as he became acutely aware of the pounding in his head and the bonds at his wrists and ankles. 

“Obi-Wan Kenobi has already been awake for several hours,” the woman explained calmly, “just rest here for now, we can bring him in --”

“I want to see Obi-Wan now,” Vader interrupted, hand resisting against the bonds, far too weak and strained to summon the Force and choke what he wanted out of her.

The woman sighed lightly, frowning at him. “That’s no way to speak to the people who saved your lives.”

Vader writhed now, feeling the full extent of the pain, not caring. “Idiot woman! Bring him to me  _ now!  _ Know that you are speaking to a Sith Lord and will feel the wrath of a --”

“Anakin?” A voice at the doorway caused Vader to freeze, the sensation crawling across his body more relieving than the bacta system in his suit. The door pushed slightly ajar and a tired-looking Obi-Wan entered the room, his arm in a splint. 

“You can keep your Sith Lord wrath, thank you,” the woman had a brisk Core accent that Vader hadn’t really noticed before. He felt his breathing steady.

“My apologies, Doctor Availia,” Obi-Wan smiled knowingly, “I’m sure with a little time, Anakin will give you his own.”

Vader felt his embarrassment fade only to be replaced by frustration, “It would be a little easier to be understanding if I actually, you know,  _ understood _ what’s going on.”

Availia shot Obi-Wan a look. “Is he always this rude?”

“Just be grateful I didn’t come here as Supreme Commander,” Vader snapped, “I would have all of you reported for insolence and treachery against the Empire.”

At this, both Availia and Obi-Wan laughed. “I should hope so!” she finally said, rubbing her eyes, “we are rebelling against it.”

“You’re...rebels?” Vader’s eyebrows shot up, “so I suppose you’re planning on turning me in at the next opportunity?” This was worse than he had expected. No rebel would consider Vader their friend, he was sure, after all he had done. Why they had even bothered saving him, he was not sure. Probably for the credits on his head. He took solace in knowing that these rebels would only be repaid by obliteration. Sidious wouldn’t take lightly to anyone affiliated with the Alliance, whether they returned his precious defector or not.

Availia snickered. “Well, if that’s what you want…” 

“We were actually going to have negotiations when you were feeling up to it,” Obi-Wan cleared his throat pointedly, “Maybe consider a  _ negotiative _ mindset?”

“I’ll send in a medical droid to do a final scan,” Availia gestured for Obi-Wan to take the other bed, “and if you’re feeling up to it, you both are welcome to join us for dinner.”   
  


\---  
  


The ground here was covered in sand, which sent Vader spiraling through less than fortunate memories, but peeking up amidst the desert every so often were shimmering bluish gemstones, ethereal beneath the moons. It was hot and dry like Tatooine, but enclosed by craggy cliffs to the left and right, mountains rising tall above them. The mine openings that peeked out from cliff faces were marked by apparatuses for transporting the gems, hovercarts docked like the shadows of sleeping beasts. 

The world itself was seeping with dark Force presence. Out of every cove, across every ridge of these grand peaks, the history of Sith seemed to dance. It made Vader feel powerful and dangerous. He glanced over to Obi-Wan who looked vaguely ill.

“This planet is incredibly strong with the Dark side,” his Master shivered, “Do you sense it too?” 

Vader nodded, looking forward to the biggest mountain yet, where forms of hooded figures were carved, tremendous and terrifying, staring down at them like Gods.

“It’s an awfully strange place for the Alliance to make a base, that much is clear.” 

The base was located in a village with an abandoned underground processing plant, which served as a mess hall and meeting place. Climbing down into the durasteel core, Vader could feel the temperature cool all around him. It felt as refreshing as a rainshower after the desert heat of the surface. Their footsteps echoed as they came to a door with a communicator fused into the side.

Vader looked towards Obi-Wan curiously. “Now what?”

“I suppose we press it.”

The Sith Lord eyed it suspiciously. “How do we know it’s not a trap?”

“You’re awfully careful these days,” Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. “What other choice do we have?”

“That’s easy to say when they don’t have a vendetta against you.” Despite his better judgement, Vader raised his finger to the comm, transmitting their image to the other side.

An image of a Rodian boy in his young adolescent years appeared before them, eyes wide with surprise.

“Stars, Availia, I guess I do owe you half my portion today,” he muttered before straightening, “Uh...hold please, gentlemen, I’ll send someone down to meet you.”   
  


\---  
  


Dinner was served cafeteria style, the sounds of chatter and children shrieking rebounding off the walls. Everyone addressed Vader pleasantly, but he could tell that under the layers of smiles and courtesy, there was a deep mistrust of him. As he mingled with rebels, mothers turned so that their children sat on the hip furthest from him. Fathers stepped protectively ahead, school aged children peeking out from behind their knees. Their words were sugar, as though he were a visiting politician who had donated to their cause, but the fear in their eyes gave them away.

How they treated Obi-Wan was even stranger. Some looked at him with reverence, some disbelief. An older man looked between the two of them warily, eyes settling on Obi-Wan as though his affiliation with Vader branded him as untrustworthy. Only the very young children came towards the pair with no hesitation, approaching them as though they were foreign beasts.

“Look!” a young girl bounced up to him, “It’s you!” Smiling a snaggletoothed grin, she handed him a holojournal. 

Vader flinched involuntarily.

“It’s not gonna bite you!” the girl looked at him like he was thermal. 

His own eyes stared back at him in an illustration above the article. 

_ Supreme Commander: Supreme Treason _ .

_ They’re calling him the Defector, but such a title does not encompass his treasonous crimes. Former Supreme Commander Vader, along with Former Jedi prisoner Obi-Wan Kenobi have defected from Coruscant, betraying everything this Empire stands for. Not only is this an act of high treason, but it is an act of war. Analysts say that these men have not fled out of fear, but instead harbor with them dangerous plans to destroy the Galactic Empire that our own Emperor Palpatine has so long fought to maintain peacefully. There is a million credit bounty on each of these men’s heads - _

A million credits? Vader’s eyes opened wide in shock. Bounty hunters from across the galaxy were sure to be on their tails. The young girl giggled.

“My daddy says you were very brave to take a stand against the Empire,” she said matter-of-factly, “He also said never to trust an Empire rat.”

Vader felt a light touch on his shoulder and looked down at Obi-Wan gratefully. He didn’t want to think about what the child had said to him -- or the bounty on his head.

“Are you ready?” his old Master squeezed his shoulder as he directed him down another set of stairs.

“This is surreal,” Vader replied.

Obi-Wan smiled warmly. “I think that we couldn’t have found a better group of people to be shot down by.”

Vader wanted to point out that it might have been better if they had skipped the whole crashing part entirely, but held his tongue. 

“Can you brief me on what we’re going to be talking about?”

“Apparently, these rebels have a very lucrative offer for us.” Obi-Wan explained, “I’m not sure on the details yet.” 

“It’s not like we’re in much of a place to barter when there are a million credits on each of our heads.” They reached the base of the stairs and stood before another door, outfitted, like the first, with a comm on the side panel. These rebels were clearly clever enough to keep their base defensible, perhaps they were clever enough to know that two million credits from Emperor Palpatine came with complementary coffins.

“Not bartering,” Obi-Wan reached up to touch the comm with a wink, “negotiation.”


	11. Chapter X: A Negotiation

There were only three rebels seated at the long table before them, but the numbers were three-on-two and Obi-Wan had his guard raised. The tallest of the three, a man perhaps ten years the Jedi’s senior, had his greying hair in a long plait. Beside him sat the doctor from earlier, Availia, and on his other side was a stocky cerean male with a business-like look about him. _Not very threatening_ , Obi-Wan thought, _if it has to come to that._ In lew of their injuries from the crash, he was delighted that the rebels had not set them up to negotiate with warriors.

“Greetings,” the long-haired man in the middle addressed them. His voice was soft and accented, Obi-Wan could not quite place where from. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you two in person. I believe it is fate that brought you here to us.”

“Or the blasters on your starfighters,” Anakin interjected.

Obi-Wan shot him a look. “The will of the Force, fate, _blasters_ -” he glared pointedly at Anakin - “Call it what you will. We’re here now.”

“Indeed.” Availia’s face was sour, “largely thanks to our medical care.”

“--and, as I said before, your blasters.” Anakin and Availia locked eyes in mutual distrust. This certainly was not going as well as Obi-Wan had hoped. He reached within the Force to give Anakin a slap on the shin, followed by a stern expression.

“Regardless,” the rebel with the braid cleared his throat, causing Obi-Wan to breath a sigh of relief, “Let us introduce ourselves. My name is Tam Mullins, or just Mullins for short. This is Oxben Zaft, our lead researcher and I believe you have already been acquainted with Availia Liddel, the head of our medical department.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Obi-Wan extended his hand in a firm shake, “and really, thank you for the hospitality. We are truly in your service.” He turned to give Anakin another warning glance, that by some miracle, he obeyed.

“An enemy of the Empire is a friend of ours,” Oxben said flatly, “I’m sure you’ve seen by now the rather large sum of money on your head. The Negotiator _and_ The Defector. You will certainly need all the friends you can get.”

“Obi-Wan and I are pretty good at protecting ourselves,” Anakin snapped, his Force presence swirling, as his eyes flashed yellow with suspicion, “What’s to say that you don’t turn us in and claim those credits for the Alliance?”

Obi-Wan recoiled slightly. As much as he understood Anakin’s concerns, this was not the way to ensure their safety. Especially without a ship and with bounty hunters across the galaxy looking for them. The Cerean was right, they needed allies.

“Even if dear old Emperor Palpatine delivered two million credits to us _rebel scum,”_ Availia scoffed, “the well of information that the two of you possess is invaluable.”

“We have...mutual interests,” Oxben continued, “and I’m sure that together, we could all come closer to our greater goal of restoring a true democracy.”

Obi-Wan spoke before Anakin could. “What, exactly, are your terms?”

Mullins took the datapad in front of him began to scroll through, as the cooling unit let out a low hum in the silence. “The contract would be for as long as it takes. Our protection, our shelter, food, clothes, basic needs - you would come on as advisors, give full disclosure on everything you know that could aid our overthrow of Palpatine and his Galactic Empire, and partake in missions to further our cause.”

Anakin leaned forward, voice steady and low. “And if we don’t?”

“Well, two million credits is a pretty decent substitute.” Availia smirked.

“You _know_ he would just eradicate you as soon as you turned us in.” Anakin blazed red with fury, like an animal backed into a corner, as Obi-Wan tried to reach awkwardly around his splint to steady him. Availia’s eyes were a challenge.

“You don’t have a ship.”

She had a point. On principle, Obi-Wan wasn’t fond of being forced to do anything, but the reality of aiding a cause he believed in, instead of spending the rest of his life in mines seemed like a good counter argument. He looked over at Anakin, who seemed to disagree entirely.

“This is just slavery,” he spat, gesturing to the datapad, “and that contract is your slaver’s papers.”

“That’s enough, Anakin,” Obi-Wan commanded him as if he was a padawan, brow furrowed in frustration. He turned to the three rebel leaders and breathed what would have been a heavy sigh out slowly through his nose. “Surely Anakin and I can have a moment in private to discuss this?”

“Certainly,” Mullins gestured to the door, “but do know that all ships are alarmed and there are far more of us than there are of you.”

“Of course.”

The Negotiator rose, walking around Anakin to pull him up with his good arm. Were negotiations always so tense and ill-tempered? With Anakin, perhaps, the answer was yes.  


\---  


The sky had darkened since they had last walked across on the planet’s sandy surface, the long shadows cast across the pass disappeared into the night. Obi-Wan walked briskly to keep pace with Anakin’s long strides, being careful to avoid the jagged rocks that protruded the ground. Finally, the two came to settle on a wide, flat one - the perfect seat for comfortable closeness.

“I don’t know about this,” Anakin finally said, in a quieter, calmer voice. Obi-Wan wondered where it had been in front of the rebels. “I don’t trust these people.”

Obi-Wan laid his head on Anakin’s shoulder, allowing himself to sigh deeply. Only then did he realize how tired he felt, fatigued by the crash and the journey. The pain of his arm and back pulsed through the bacta.

“What choice do we have?”

Anakin drew himself closer, “What kind of trustworthy person would force people to join their cause against their will?”

“That’s rich,” Obi-Wan snorted, “coming from the one who kidnapped me.”

Anakin laughed hollowly. “I never said I was trustworthy.”

“That’s fair, I suppose.”

They sat in silence for a while, breathing the warm night air. Obi-Wan had no love for this planet, with its overbearing Sith Lord statues - no doubt the work of decades of slave labor. The dark presence here was as exhilarating and disgusting as Anakin’s piloting at nineteen - it felt like the twist in his stomach before the inevitable lurch forward and down. Despite all of this, Obi-Wan couldn’t deny the beauty of the rich azure crystals haphazardly jutting out of the ground. They were even more reflective in the vast darkness, like little glimmers of hope fighting to float in a deep and terrible ocean.

“It will be like it was,” Obi-Wan offered, both to himself and Anakin, a glimmer of hope, “We’ll be together on missions, we’ll train and fight together, it will be like the Clone Wars again except” - his voice lowered, the memory shattering before the Fall - “better, this time.”

“Mm,” Anakin smiled a small smile, “I’d like a better ending.”

“There are no endings,” Obi-Wan said, pressing his lips softly to Anakin’s before turning to look towards the stars, “All spaces are liminal.”

“Oh,” Anakin said, flushing, “You remembered.”  
  
  
\---  
  
  
They signed the contract on the datapad to raised eyebrows, as Mullins pushed a second datapad towards them.

“This was found in the wreckage of your ship, as well as these,” he reached into his pack to pull out two lightsabers. Obi-Wan nodded gratefully, thanking the Force for the survival of both his journal and his weapon. “You’ll be needing them.”

Availia’s eyes narrowed. “But if you dare use those things on us, by the stars, I will not heal the blaster wounds and I will let you both die. Slowly and painfully.”

“Don’t be unpleasant, Availia,” Mullins urged, putting a hand on her shoulder. Obi-Wan smiled, the gentle touch reminding him of himself with Anakin.

“I can show you to your quarters,” Oxben offered, “It’s rather modest, I’m afraid.”

Obi-Wan shook his head, “I’m sure we’ve had worse.”

“Alright then,” Mullins’ eyes twinkled as he leaned back in his chair, “Is there anything else that Availia and I can do for you before we retire?”

“I need burn lotion,” Anakin frowned, looking down at his compression suit, “is that something you can make?”

Availia nodded, “Indeed. I can have it to you by tomorrow.”

She rose, pushing her seat at the table, and everyone else followed suit. Negotiations, Obi-Wan thought, always have a way of working out, and he thanked the Force that this time, the way out wasn’t a violent one. Anakin put his hand on his shoulder as they walked behind the cerean. The true test would be tomorrow, he thought. The will of the Force worked as a mystery and he only hoped that it would be with them.


	12. Chapter XI: Sithspawn

There had only been one bed in the modest living space, which was the least of Vader’s problems. More pressingly, the small apartment was not separated into rooms - aside from the ‘fresher which jutted off crudely in a walled-in corner. Where the small sitting room ended, the bed began and soon after, a table with two ancient-looking chairs. Vader wondered if they could even support his weight. There was no conservator or cooking appliances to be seen at all.

“Home sweet home,” he joked, when the Cerean had walked away, leaving them alone with the whirring of the ventilation system that supported these rows of apartments. Unlike the main base, their living quarters were located above ground, in a blocky duracrete structure. It was not unlike their quarters at the temple had been: simple and efficient, collective. Just like that, they had been assimilated, become one with a cause beyond themselves again. It was how they both operated best, probably. Perhaps how most people operated best, as gears in a machine. To Vader long ago, such a thought would have been disquieting. In that moment, it was hopeful.

“Indeed,” Obi-Wan smiled softly.

Vader watched the Jedi pull his dirty tunic from his body, as he moved towards the shower. He thought briefly of waiting for him, but as soon as he sat down on the bed, he was overcome by an aching tiredness.

Everything smelled foreign here, of raw iron and dust. Reaching towards the floor where Obi-Wan had dropped his shirt, Vader pulled it from the ground and held it close to him, savoring his Master’s sweat and the sharp standard fabric soap that reminded him more of himself than anything. He imagined his bunk on  _ The Resolute  _ so many years ago, when this smell was both more regular and more forbidden. He felt his breath steady and slow, the dull pain from his head an echo of a battle wound.

It was not long before Vader fell into a shallow sleep with those thoughts in his mind. He didn’t even wake to see Obi-Wan’s expression, torn between amusement and disgust at his Fallen apprentice’s face pressed deeply into his old clothes - or his sigh, or the way he said under his breath “Nothing’s changed.” and then, stroking Vader’s hair softly from his forehead to plant a kiss in its place: “Everything’s changed.”

Instead, his sleep deepened with the heaviness of the other man’s body beside him.

 

Light flooded the room, pressing almost corporeally against Vader’s eyelids. His eyes blinked several times before fully adjusting. He hated desert mornings, how the totality of brightness and heat pressed uncomfortably into his senses like a splinter. Beside him, the bed was empty but he could make out the back of Obi-Wan’s figure sitting at the table, typing furiously on the datapad. Pushing himself from the bed, Vader willed himself awake.

“You’re up,” Obi-Wan commented lightly without changing his position.

“So are you,” Vader started with the same dry inflection, only to break into a smile as he made his way to the other room.

Obi-Wan seemed to come to a stopping point in his writing and looked around at him, eyes twinkling. “For several standard hours, in fact.”

Vader ignored the Jedi’s teasing, focussing on the box that sat on the table before him. “What’s that?” he asked, leaning over the Jedi to peer inside.

“A care package,” Obi-Wan explained, “some clothes, instant caf, hard contract papers, laundry soap and the lotion that you requested.”

“Mm,” Vader pulled a set of the clothes from the box, holding it up to the light. A neatly tanned bantha leather jacket, a thin black shirt, and matching black pants - all of which he imagined would look quite flattering on Obi-Wan,“This looks a bit hot for the weather here.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan glanced up, “the contract papers might clear that up for you.”

Digging through suspiciously similar-looking packets of laundry soap and instant caf, Vader extracted the hard contract. He glanced through the first few pages that outlined the previous day’s negotiations before stopping short at a bullet point he didn’t recall discussing.  _ Your first mission will be a test of mutual trust. In one week, you will be sent off world to gather resources. More details will be given in an in-person briefing. _

“That’s really strange,” Vader muttered, “They’re already trusting us with their ships?”

Obi-Wan shrugged. “What reason would we have to hijack them?”

Vader thought about it. They had nowhere else to turn, no real support network, and the leverage of their bounty weighed heavily against them. On the other hand, a ship to fly meant the freedom to weigh these options and risk an escape anyway. He was not used to being trusted so readily and the responsibility of that trust felt stifling. 

“How do we know it’s not a trap?”

“Perhaps that’s what they mean by a test of mutual trust,” Obi-Wan thrust a disposable cup of caf into Vader’s hand, “Now, drink. You’re going to need it, unless your attitude towards meetings has changed that drastically.”

Vader obeyed. The room temperature drink was bitter on his tongue but Obi-Wan was smiling - genuine, candid smiles - more frequently than before and that was sweet and warm enough.

\---

 

“Get down!” Obi-Wan’s voice was a hoarse whisper. Vader ducked behind him, back flat against the cave wall and breath heaving. As soon as they had landed on Kalsunor, he had known that there was something wrong with this planet. Huge swaths of vegetation lay scattered, uprooted between swampy puddles. The air was moist and still and it reeked of death. 

It was barely an hour before they had seen the first silooth emerge from a canyon above them- if you could call these things silooth. The ones that Vader remembered seeing on Tatooine were never bigger than the palm of his hand and were as skittish as any other desert beetle. Here, the beasts were massive, the size of a bantha, if not bigger. Wide plates of chitin covered them like armor and they made a horrible clicking sound, which echoed off of the cave walls. They were aggressive, butting heads with each other as water plumed all around them.

These silooth, as they had learned in the briefing, had been alchemically altered by the old Sith Empire as warbeasts. In their jagged maws were venom sacs full of a lethal and expensive poison. Oxben had gone over a diagram with them, Vader was sure, but his memory of it was fuzzy. It was hard to focus on anything. The downpour of rain splashing off of the marshes seemed deafening.

Soaked and shivering, Obi-Wan and Vader had made their way up to the very cave system from which the silooth had emerged. As the rain outside the cavern poured down in sheets, they huddled close, trying to get warm enough to think of a plan.

“It passed us,” Obi-Wan relaxed to his side, pushing his dripping hair from his eyes. Vader slumped down next to him. They were not the only ones taking refuge from the storm here. They had watched over the precipice as the silooth retreated back towards them. Vader only hoped that the offshoot they had chosen to take shelter in wasn’t the home of one of these monsters. 

He pulled his jacket tight around him, the fleece collar damp against his cheek. “How are we supposed to extract poison from these things if we can’t even get close to them?”

“Weren’t you listening in the meeting?” Obi-Wan rolled his eyes at Vader’s blank face, “No, of course you weren’t.”

“Oxben’s voice is  _ so _ boring, Obi-Wan,” Vader watched another silooth lumber into the cavern about a hundred and fifty feet down. Obi-Wan shot him an exasperated glance.

“Once we get within ten feet of the things, they lose their ability to focus in.”

“I  _ know  _ that,” Vader did seem to recall it, now, and the rest of Oxben’s boring lecture to boot. The beasts had three sacs within their mouths. Each of the side sacs produced a formula that, when combined in the center sac, created the poison that they were supposed to extract. Unfortunately for them, this only happened when the beasts were threatened.

“What I’m thinking,” Obi-Wan’s voice beside him came out as a hoarse whisper, as he watched another silooth pass the entrance to their cove, the echo of clicks disappearing into the darkness, “is that you go behind one and start attacking it from the rear. While it’s distracted, I’ll get within ten feet of its mouth with the syringe. On my word, you hop up top and stab down through the center. I’ll get the venom.”

Vader frowned. The Obi-Wan he had once known would have never suggested for the beast to die.

“Counter offer,” he suggested, “You approach it through the Force to calm it down. I climb on top of its head and draw the venom with the syringe. That way it doesn’t have to die.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “I wish it could be that easy, but these creatures have been altered, fueled with rage of their Sith makers. The light side of the Force could never get through to them.”

“What do you mean?” Vader felt himself go cold, “They have lived here on Kalsunor for ages without  _ any  _ sentient influence. You’re not even willing to try my plan?”

“Trust me,” Obi-Wan laid a hand on his shoulder, staring over the edge with a sadness that seemed to transcend the conversation. “when I say that the tragic work on these beasts is irreversible.”

“No. It’s. Not.” Vader’s voice was raising dangerously, “I won’t just blindly kill a Sithspawn beast because you’re not willing to try, because you’re not willing to see outside of the black-and-white world someone else set up for you--”

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan warned, “This is non-negotiable. It’s the only--”

“Move!” Vader pulled his former Master out of the way as a loud chittering filled their ears. They rolled together across the cave floor as a silooth of massive proportions charged towards the spot where they had been sitting. It skidded before it reached the mouth of the cave and let out an tremendous screech. Vader’s heart pounded in his ears. 

“Get behind it,” Obi-Wan commanded through gritted teeth, “Just do it, Anakin.”

Vader didn’t budge.

He kneeled before the great beast and shut his eyes. He steadied his breathing. He slowed his heart down to a natural pace. For the first time in years, Vader tentatively reached out to the Light.

Behind his eyelids, the shapes of Obi-Wan and the Silooth blurred together, connected by the Force between them. Vader tried to enter the beasts mind, with shaky reassurances. He felt the heaviness of chiton plates across his back, the clicking of mandibles. He felt the swamp plants and flesh of small beasts digesting in his stomach and tracked them back through his veins. Could feel the heaviness of the three sacs in his throat. With gentle hands, he shifted to suggest the solutions from the side sacs combine in the center. Slowly, carefully, shakily - like a child’s first steps. Vader breathed out through his nose as the fluids combined in the middle sac, taut and full of venom.

Then, a sharp wince of pain. Vader audibly gasped, feeling the panic rise within the great armored beast. Obi-Wan’s shape slunk back against the wall and he could see the poison -  _ his _ venom - now collected in the syringe.

“It’s okay,” Vader -  _ Anakin -  _ said softly, “You can return home now.” 

The beast spawled defeated on the floor beside him, as Anakin opened his eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry,” Obi-Wan’s hand rested on his shoulder softly, as Anakin looked unblinkingly onwards. “Let’s get back to the ship.”

Anakin could only nod as his former Master helped him to his feet.


	13. Chapter XII: The Collector

It was a fortnight until they were called on again. Obi-Wan woke early each day to write on his datapad. By the time that Begeren’s sun peeked high over the cliffs and into their window, Anakin would roll out of bed as well. He rarely sought Obi-Wan’s touch, even in sleep. Obi-Wan kept a respectful distance, helping where he was needed around the base. Mullins always had a task to keep him busy, seeming to understand the need for distraction. Everything was pleasant. Everyone expressed gratitude for Obi-Wan’s help. The two insurgents worked in different spheres.

Anakin tinkered with cleaning droids. Obi-Wan taught history to strategists.

Anakin tinkered with astromechs. Obi-Wan poured over diagrams of Jedi temples, matching them to what he could remember.

Anakin tinkered. Obi-Wan watched him tinker from behind the datapad.

One day, Obi-Wan couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Anakin,” he sat lightly on the ancient chair beside his former apprentice, “You’ll have to talk to me eventually.”

Anakin didn’t look up. He delicately twisted the wrench. It slipped from his fingers, hitting the floor with a loud  _ thunk. _

“Anakin…” Obi-Wan reached for it, a gesture of peace. Anakin snapped it from his grasp.

“What do you want?” he snapped. His eyes were still raw with sleep, hair still shower-damp. It looked much longer wet, reminded Obi-Wan of Qui-Gon’s. Anakin hadn’t asked him to apply the burn lotion all week. He was wearing the compression suit less too, opting for the loose fitting beige top and black pants that had been provided. It made Obi-Wan wonder if it had always been more of a symbol, or if the other man was truly healing.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan sighed for the third time. Words, his ammunition, failed him. He tried to translate everything the way it deserved to be said but words were little vessels that couldn’t contain multitudes. 

“Vader.” Anakin corrected him, “Just say it, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Eyes don’t get that raw from sleep alone, Obi-Wan thought.

“When I saw the temple being blown up from the inside,” Obi-Wan started, “I thought about Qui-Gon’s ashes in the catacombs below. For some reason, knowing that those ashes could rest there undisturbed was what gave me hope.”

Anakin sniffed and let out a bit of a snort. “Why?”

“Probably for the same reason you came to Tatooine when you believed you could find me there.”

“You wanted Qui-Gon’s remains to be your apprentice?”

“ _ Anakin,”  _ Obi-Wan smiled sadly, “Your old Sith Master said it himself. I was the last thread between what you had become and your old life. Some part of you must have wanted that back.”

“Do you think so?” Anakin spat, “Brilliant, Obi-Wan, just brilliant. You’re a real Minder. A lobotomized sarlacc could have figured that out, at this point.”

“Ssh,” Obi-Wan leaned forward across the table, putting a finger to Anakin’s lips, “Listen. I’m...I’m sorry. About the silooth.”

Anakin shoved him away. 

“And I know...this isn’t about the silooth. But, Anakin,” Obi-Wan tried to find Anakin’s eyes, brows furrowing in his own vulnerability, “This is going to take time. Wounds...take time.”

“ _ This, _ ” Anakin repeated coolly, “is absolutely about the silooth. And every other irredeemable Sithspawn in the Galaxy. And it’s about me. Is  _ this  _ even possible to you?”

“Too far,” Anger, as sudden and scalding as lava, was bubbling up inside of Obi-Wan. The temple was destroyed. The Order was dead. The temple was destroyed. The Order was dead. The temple was destroyed. The Order was dead. The catacombs were demolished from the inside out. And he couldn’t keep the thoughts under control, they roiled around him, inescapable.

“Do you know what I did on Tatooine to cope with the fact that you had destroyed every little thing that I held dear?” 

Obi-Wan’s eyes narrowed, as Anakin drew in a breath. Hard yellow. Clean yellow. He continued.

“I convinced myself that Anakin was dead. I said that Vader killed Anakin. Glanced over the fact that they had the same face, the same scars, same hair. That’s a lot harder to do in person, you know? You spend so many years with someone, fighting beside someone,  _ Force _ , loving someone --”

Drip. A tear like acid from the soft yellow. Dirty, dirty yellow. Blue.

“I loved you. I love you. I can’t stop loving you.”

The Jedi had broken. His head rested on his sleeve, shaking gently with sobs. 

“Force, please, for both of us then,” Anakin’s voice was softer, shattered, “Let me be sorry. Let me redeem myself.”

 

\---

 

Once, in what felt like a different galaxy, Obi-Wan had been accused of being a collector.

“You need to learn to let go,” Master Qui-Gon had told him, “you’re holding on to things I said months ago.”

“There are a lot of rules,” the padawan Obi-Wan had admitted, “I’m trying to get everything right.”

“Holding on to rules that tightly is an attachment in its own, don’t you think, my young padawan?” Qui-Gon had seemed impossibly tall and distant. His knighthood had seemed unattainable. 

“It’s really contradictory, isn’t it?” Obi-Wan sighed, “Don’t break rules, don’t hold on to rules. Have compassion, don’t feel. anything.”

Qui-Gon laughed. “Don’t feel anything? What part of the Code is that?”

“It just seems easier than half-feeling, Master.”

And yes, Obi-Wan felt. He collected. Wherever he went, he picked up more and more people, sentiments, rules, enemies, friends, regrets. Now his stomach clenched around that empty space. Letting go, forgiving - not willfully pushing the pile away until it was all out of sight, out of mind. 

What was left? What was next?

 

\--

 

Mullins and Availia had asked to dine with them privately that night, in an apartment near identical to their own. That was something that had impressed Obi-Wan. The leaders of this rebel alliance shared what little they had and made sure to stay on equal footing with the rest of their associates. The whole base was run communally, the organizers no more important than the rest. Availia had told him that not every faction in the Alliance functioned this way. The Begeren movement had splintered off from another insurgent group a few systems over. The Rebellion was more widespread than Obi-Wan had imagined.

“Ah, Obi-Wan and our friend the Sith Lord,” Availia said presently, as Obi-Wan and Anakin shuffled in, “Welcome!”

She was perched on a shabby chair, looking more birdlike than ever, thin hair woven into a spinelike pattern along the center of her head. Anakin responded with a glare so pointed and focused that he almost tripped over Mullins, who was sitting on the floor with his back resting against the wall. He held a bowl at chest level, shovelling its contents unorthodoxly into his mouth. As he looked up, Obi-Wan noticed with some disgust that some of it had gotten caught in his mustache.

“Stew’s in the pot,” Mullins gestured to the pot beside him and the bowls stacked on the table, “Serve yourselves!”

As Anakin ladled out a bowl for each of them, Obi-Wan plunked down on the floor next to him. “Why did you call for us? I assume we have another mission.” 

He accepted his overfull bowl, nodding his thanks as he made room for Anakin on the floor beside him. These apartments were not made for more than two people at a time. Obi-Wan wondered briefly if larger families had access to larger units. 

“Well, thanks to your last mission, we made enough credits to arm our entire adult population.” Mullins grinned almost mischievously, “We just received notice. Each quart of venom got us a hundred blasters. You should be proud!”

“What?” Obi-Wan was taken aback, both at the price of the venom and the use of that money, “Why?! You’re not thinking of invading the Imperial Capital with a squadron of less than two hundred men, are you?”

“Invade, no.” Availia laughed, “Our plan was never to invade. We are going to carry out a stealth mission.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes narrowed. Had the rebels lost their minds? Did they have any idea how advanced Imperial security was? What they were up against?

“That’s actually not a bad idea,” Anakin interjected, “If I had to guess, I’d say the Imperial troopers are split between the senate chamber and the temporary capital building. If we act fast, we’ll only have to deal with one Force-user. Sidious won’t have found a new apprentice quite yet. And I know plenty of channels and codes. The Empire is a slow moving machine. This is the perfect time to strike.”

Obi-Wan looked from Availia to Anakin, dumbfounded. “The fact that you two agree with each other is reason enough to deem this plan crazy.”

“Crazy, yes,” Mullins admitted, “but hope is crazy. Rebellion itself is crazy, if you think about it for too long, so don’t --” he grinned, “just trust in the Force, or whatever you Jedis do.”

“Jedi,” Obi-Wan corrected, eyes darkening, “and Jedi don’t do anything anymore.”

Mullins flushed as he looked up apologetically, as though he were truly unaware that he was about to hit a nerve. The rebel leader was unlike anyone Obi-Wan had ever met. Something about him was very strange, ungrounded and foolish. Perhaps that was why they followed him. Childlike idealism was a rarity in these dark times.

“Anyway,” Anakin pushed his empty bowl in front of him, “Even if we don’t launch the mission so soon, our men will need to learn to fight. How many of them actually know how to use a weapon?”

“Too few,” Mullins stacked his bowl on top of Anakin’s and Availia’s as Obi-Wan finished his last few bites, “That was the next order of business. We were going to ask you if you would be willing to take the next few months to train them.”

During the Clone Wars, Anakin and Obi-Wan had teamed up to train communities who had never seen a blaster before. They had made do with whatever they had, sticks and rocks, slings and bolts, the spare parts from old ships. They had been efficient teachers together, fighting side by side, working individually with those who lagged behind. 

Once, they had been quite capable of making soldiers out of civilians. And for what? For the second time that day, Obi-Wan felt a surge of anger pulse through him. If there was any cause worthy of making soldiers, it was rebellion. He breathed out long and low, letting go.

Anakin looked at him tentatively.

“Alright, Mullins,” Obi-Wan placed his empty bowl atop the others lightly, “Anakin and I can try to train your men.”


	14. Chapter XIII: Getting Stronger

Two months passed and Anakin could barely remember what it felt like to drift through life without a purpose. Every day began before the sun rose. He would lead the rebels in an early morning run up the craggy steps that were built into the mountains. At the first plateau, he would turn them to run along the narrow path by the first row of towering sculptures. The faces of ancient Sith Lords scowled down at them as their feet beat the ancient stone with defiance. 

By the end of the second week, the rebels dropped the veneer of respect that they had shown for Anakin. Their bitterness fueled him, as much as the prospect of hope, as much as Obi-Wan’s eyes following him up and over the ledge, as he came down panting, hands on his knees, recovering breath. By the end of the first month, a foundation for real respect had been put in place.

Anakin made himself available. He spent hours outside of the designated training time focussing on blaster accuracy. He showed one Twi’lek mother pressure points in her neck and hands that would ease her lower back pain. He and Obi-Wan even watched somebody’s children one night so that he could take his partner by speeder to see the desert sunset. “There was a little bantha,” Anakin read aloud from a colorful Young Reader’s holonovel, “whose coat was dull and brown.”

It had made Obi-Wan giggle, at least.

Redemption takes time. Redemption takes effort. Anakin had never thought himself capable of having the patience to actually work for it. Standing in front of his hostile captive audience on the third day, he had made them all a promise. “I don’t expect you to like me, or respect me, or even trust me,” he had said, wiping away the sweat from his forehead, “I want to earn that. If you feel like you need to confront me on something, you know where to find me.”

The first week, no one had dared. The second, a short man with dark beetly eyes had knocked on the door of his apartment. “Can I help you?” Anakin’s voice was not unkind, merely tired. It was late and Obi-Wan was already in his bed clothes, reading on the cot.

“You told me we could come talk to you, didn’t you? About why we don’t trust you?”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, not looking up from his book. Anakin nodded. “Of course, come on in. What’s your name?”

“Jude,” the man said, “but this isn’t about me. This is about my wife, Lora.”

“Er, she can come talk to me as well,” Anakin offered, “Whatever works best.”

Jude glared daggers at him, his moustache twitching. “She can’t actually, Skywalker. She was killed on Dantooine a year ago when the Imperial troopers came to stomp out the Alliance.”

“Oh.” Anakin felt awkward emptiness fill him, eyes darting for somewhere to look.

“You ever wonder why there’s so many of us with kids but no wife? No husband?”

Anakin bit the inside of his lip so hard that he could taste blood.

“She wasn’t even involved, just caught in the crossfire,” Jude’s voice twinged with emotion, “Do you recall giving those orders?”

So many orders, Anakin thought, so many lives. He felt nauseous and light headed, reaching backwards to grip the back on the chair. “Yes,” he answered, holding back a thousand things, defensiveness and tears,  “I remember.”

“I don’t know how you sleep,” Jude spat. 

_ Not very well.  _ Anakin wanted to say. Instead, he said nothing. 

Jude was the first, but not the last. Anakin trained. Anakin screamed into pillows, did pushups on the floor. Sweat poured down his back, stinging his burn scars. Anakin wore the damned compression suit, wishing with all his heart that it could be over. Anakin mourned. 

One night, towards the end of the second month, when they were about to turn out the light, Obi-Wan brushed his hand over the scar on Anakin’s cheek. 

“I’m proud of you, Anakin. Proud of you in a way I never thought I would be again.”

Anakin beamed, letting his former Master’s hands caress his face. It was so hard, the kind of thankless work you do only so that you can live with yourself. Self-forgiveness, Anakin found, came hardest of all. He was selfish that way, but he wanted to deserve it. Every day, Anakin worked tirelessly to rebuild, to actualize progress, to overcome. It was slower than the physical progress he was making in his training. It was slower, really, than anything that Anakin had ever waited for.

“I couldn’t do it,” Obi-Wan continued, “You’re a braver man than me.”

Anakin shook his head. “There was a time once where I’d just accept that kind of self-deprecation,  _ Master _ ,” he winked, emphasizing the word, “but I just don’t buy it anymore. Not when you’re the one who inspires me to be better.” 

“Mm,” Obi-Wan pulled him closer, holding him tightly just like that. When Anakin pulled away, Obi-Wan pulled him back into a soft, passionate kiss. 

It was a dance, foreign and yet reflexive. He pushed back against Obi-Wan’s mouth, beard tickling his chin. Anakin felt his entire body shudder as his lips parted, the older man’s tongue caressing his own. When they finally broke apart, Anakin’s eyes were lidded and his body warm and pliant. 

“Is this redemption?” he whispered into the crook of Obi-Wan’s neck, “I like how it tastes.”

Obi-Wan straightened over Anakin, kissing and biting between his ear and neck, where the collar of his nightshirt began. “Not redemption,” he whispered back, “Not a reward. This is me being irrepressibly attracted to you. And sleeping next to you every night for the past three months hasn’t helped, either.”

Anakin groaned as the bedshirt was pulled from his head, leaving the ripples of his scars exposed. With incredible care, Obi-Wan kissed the damaged skin gently, working his way downwards. Anakin reached forward and nearly tore Obi-Wan’s bedshirt off his body in response.

“ _ Yes,”  _ Anakin leaned back to admire his body. All of the familiar scars and ripples of muscle. Freckles scattered like star systems. Thin unruly copper hairs that trailed temptingly down his belly. Obi-Wan smiled.

“And you’d just impressed me with your patience.”

In response, Anakin pulled himself up, crawling into the crux of Obi-Wan’s knee and settling between his legs where a distinct hardness was betraying his cool tone. Hastily, Anakin pushed aside his sleep pants as well, admiring the arc and dip of Obi-Wan’s naked body on the bed.

“Please,” Anakin’s voice was thick with want, “let me…” His own erection pushed painfully against unforgiving fabric. Obi-Wan pulled him upwards, into another kiss, loosening the elastic of his sleep pants so he could shimmy out. Their bodies pressed flush against one another as kisses became looser, messier. Their mouths worked almost desperately together, bumping wildly, as they ground against each other in time.

Anakin let out a loud groan of pain as the friction rubbed at fragile skin on his chest. Obi-Wan pushed him away, guiding him gently off.

“That’s not going to work, is it?” he asked breathlessly, eyes devouring Anakin whole, “the burns…”

“I’m fine,” Anakin promised. Anything to continue. He pushed himself forward. Obi-Wan caught him by the shoulder and held him at bay. 

“ _ I’m fine, _ ” Anakin whined again, as he shrugged out of Obi-Wan’s grasp, his cock giving a twitch of desperation, “please.”

“Hands and knees.” Obi-Wan commanded, “angle yourself so I can hold you by the hips below the burns.” 

“ _ Oh.” _

Obediently, Anakin got into position. He felt exposed like this, ass in the air and cheek resting on the blanket. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the tub of burn lotion soar from the table to Obi-Wan’s hand. His muscles tensed. Obi-Wan rubbed his hands together with the goopy substance, coating them completely.

“Hurry. Up.” Anakin demanded, pressing backwards into them. He gasped at the cooling sensation as Obi-Wan worked him open. It was more pleasurable than painful, the fullness. He arched into it, letting Obi-Wan’s finger stretch him, as the familiar herbal scent of the bacta filled the air.

“Remember to breathe,” Obi-Wan whispered, his own breath ragged with desire, “Are you ready?”

Anakin nodded against the bed, letting his lungs fill in anticipation. It creaked loudly as Obi-Wan pushed in. He had almost forgotten what it felt like to be so completely, wonderfully full. Anakin released the air in his lungs with a low whine. 

“ _ Master.”  _ He couldn’t help himself. The feeling of being stretched around Obi-Wan’s cock brought Anakin back to a place of complete submission. His mind cleared, the low anxious buzzing soaked up by pleasure. 

“Oh,  _ Anakin, _ ” Obi-Wan’s voice was strained as he gave another shallow thrust, holding fast to Anakin’s thighs. A desperate, filthy sound. “Beautiful, brilliant, confused Anakin. The very same.”

 

\---

 

In the breakfast line of the mess hall the next morning, Anakin felt himself still buzzing with satisfaction. Behind him, Obi-Wan was happily chatting with Senj, a Devish teenager, about industry on Devaron. Their conversation faded into the background as Anakin sighed. He felt rested and peaceful. Calm.

The faces of the rebels were becoming easier to recognize as he learned their stories. He was starting to feel at home here and vaguely wished that he and Obi-Wan could go on training this small rebel army forever, instead of advancing on Coruscant. It had been too long since he had felt at home anywhere. 

As the three of them sat down at a cafeteria table, trays laden with soupy grain cereal, sausages and fruit, another familiar face approached them: this time, a pale, cone-shaped one.

“Hello, Oxben,” Anakin said through bites of cereal.

“Er, hi,” Oxben shifted awkwardly, looking at Obi-Wan. “Mullins wanted to meet with you after you are done with breakfast.”

Anakin frowned. “Already? We’re just getting started.”

“Not you.” Oxben’s beedy eyes turned to Anakin. It was clear that even if the rebel squadron was beginning to trust him, the Cerean still had his doubts.

“Not me?” Anakin’s eyes widened, offended, “What could you possibly want Obi-Wan for that doesn’t involve me?”

His eyes darted back to Obi-Wan, who looked equally baffled.

“Anakin and I are a team.” Anakin felt himself glow from the inside out as Obi-Wan spoke, “If you expect us to function as such, we can’t be keeping secrets from one another.”

Oxben rolled his eyes. “How touching, Master Jedi. I’m sure you can tell  _ him  _ all about it after you speak with Mullins.”

For just an instant, Obi-Wan’s eyes flickered with a distant pain. Anakin had half a mind to yell at Oxben, to scream in his face that the Jedi Order was dead and the temple was destroyed and  _ how dare he.  _ He stopped himself, slowed his breathing, using the meditative techniques that a far younger Obi-Wan had taught him long ago.

“It’s fine, Obi-Wan, really,” Anakin assured him, “go with Oxben. We can meet up out by the blaster range. I’m supposed to start Group B’s accuracy training now anyway.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes lingered on his own, sad and proud and tired all at the same time.


	15. Chapter XIV: A Bond Renewed

Obi-Wan left the next morning, while Anakin was still asleep. Mullins had recommended he go no later, insisting that it would be better to get the secret mission over with. Obi-Wan desperately wanted it over too, uncomfortable with the half truths he had told his companion. 

“Mullins says that one of us needs to stay and train the troops,” he had said, “It’s getting to the point where even skipping a week would be too much.”

Pouting, Anakin had adjusted into his chest. “You’re going to be gone a week? And you don’t even know exactly where you’re going?”

“I don’t...I don’t know how long it will take. Just trust me, Anakin.” Those had been his last words before Anakin had nodded off again. Obi-Wan hadn’t deserved his trust, hadn’t deserved the kiss or the warning: “You better come back. I’m not ready to lose you again.”

It didn’t sit well, not after the first bricks of trust had just been laid back down, after all the work Anakin had put in. Obi-Wan knew that it was what he must do and so he did it. That’s what Obi-Wan was meant for, he reminded himself yet again, doing uncomfortable things in the name of the galaxy.

The truth was, that Anakin couldn’t be with him on this one, especially in the wake of all of his progress. As Obi-Wan revved his speeder upwards towards the third highest plateau in the unfamiliar cliff face, he understood that much with great certainty.  A great and powerful darkness emanated from these caves, growing stronger and stronger the closer he came to them. He hardly needed the map that Mullins had provided, the sheer dark energy guiding him closer to his destination: the abandoned Begeren Temple of the Sith.

According to Oxben’s research, within this temple lay a Sith holocron that stored an ancient knowledge of the dark side, long forgotten to the Sith of today. It was too dangerous to ever be discovered, he had said, and needed to be destroyed by a vessel of light. A Jedi would do perfectly. When Obi-Wan had reminded him once again that the Jedi Order was dead, he had simply stated in that mechanical tone of his that  _ he  _ was close enough and would do fine. That had hardly made Obi-Wan feel better.

Standing before the pyramidal structure that jutted out the cliff face, Obi-Wan felt even less confident. Of course, he had to do this alone. Anakin couldn’t risk exposure to this much dark energy. The result would be too unpredictable. Even after everything he had done, he still occupied the same vessel. Reformed or not, Anakin was Sith. Obi-Wan was Jedi.  _ Or close enough,  _ Oxben’s voice repeated in his mind. He shook his head as if to clear it. 

The temple was composed of wide slabs of carved rock, dusty with time, that receded backwards, the tip of the pyramid merging with the natural cave wall. As Obi-Wan came closer, he noticed small pillars on either side of the black metal entryway. Each pillar had a small statue at its head, the faces of which Obi-Wan did not recognize. Engraved below them, the Code of the Sith, rusted and dirtied but still readable. Obi-Wan raked his thumbnail across the worn lettering, feeling a surge of energy in his gut, a searing pain. He jumped back, breath heaving. There was no mistaking it. This was an authentic Sith temple. He leaned his speeder against the wall and walked briskly towards the door. 

There was no knob on the black metal, nor any handle. First, Obi-Wan leaned his body against the cold flat surface, pressing hard into it, to not avail. Then, he reached within the Force, eyes softening as he concentrated on pushing it open from the inside. Still nothing. Obi-Wan heaved a sigh, pacing back and forth as he tried to solve the puzzle. His thoughts drifted of their own volition to Anakin. Around now, Anakin would be focussing on sword training. Or agility, perhaps. 

Obi-Wan looked at the chrono on his wrist, eyes widening as he saw a dull blank screen. Was the Force so powerful here that it stopped the ebb and flow of time? That was preposterous. It must just be busted. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Obi-Wan walked back to the statues. He read for clues.

_ Peace is a lie, there is only passion. _

Obi-Wan felt his head pulse, as his mind filled with images of the destruction of the Jedi temple on Coruscant, his lungs ached as if filling once again with debris, hopelessness and then settled, as if he could breath around the dust. 

_ Through passion, I gain strength. _

The small part of Anakin’s bicep between his mechnoarm and burn-scarred shoulder. The self-satisfied smirk on his face in the afterglow. Desperately, Obi-Wan shook his head back and forth. 

“Get out of my head!” he yelled into the darkness. He couldn’t look away, felt the words burn into his eyes. He bit down hard, teeth grinding against each other as he tried to break away. _  
__Through strength, I gain power._

Desperate primal scratching, yellowing eyes. Obi-Wan’s mind flashed with images of fire, destruction, Chaos. In the center of it all, he saw himself - a vessel created to destroy. Wanton killing, bodies flying as he spun his lightsaber, the sickening squelch of bodies falling, blood spattering stone. 

His head was bobbing violently now, seizing. Anything to shake the visions that were overtaking him. Never in his life had he felt so powerless, and yet, from some sick place in his gut, he felt a new power rising within him. Dirty and wild and consuming. He breathed in deep through his nose and read. _  
__Through power, I gain victory._

A throne, draped in crimson. And he sat on it, back tall like he was meant to be there. Nothing else mattered. _  
__Through victory, my chains are broken._

To his right, Anakin stood behind him, fingers possessively entwined around his neck. In that moment, it was Anakin and Obi-Wan against the world. Or for it? Obi-Wan shut his eyes tightly, held on desperately to the pillar. _  
__The Force shall free me._

 

When he opened his eyes, his head was throbbing with a pain unlike anything he had ever felt. It was all illusion. Obi-Wan reached towards his beard, fingers running desperately over his face. He was still here. He was still the same. Perhaps all of it was a trick, the visions, the time manipulation, the pain. He glanced at the chrono on his wrist and jumped back in horror. The damned thing was still busted, shiny screen reflected his eyes back at him - unmistakably yellow.

Doubt filled Obi-Wan’s head like smoke, as the oxygen around him felt thick and unbreathable. He heaved, head spinning from left to right. The temple! In his panic, he hadn’t noticed that the metal door had retracted up into the stone, leaving the entrance unblocked. It was slowly sinking back into place. If Obi-Wan ducked under, he could still make it in time. Thoughtlessly, he lunged at the door, sliding under it. His knee scraped hard against the dirty stone as he skidded to a halt in the entryway. Heart pounding in his chest, Obi-Wan bowed his head. He had made it.

A resounding boom echoed in the dim temple as the door slammed down behind him. Obi-Wan jumped, skittish, and then leaned against it, catching his breath. He glanced around. The entrance opened into a bridge that led to a raised platform in the center. The platform gave way to three more bridges that extended deeper into the mountain. Between each bridge, cavernous depths plummeted into the mountain’s core. The entire temple was shrouded in a smoky reddish light which Obi-Wan quickly realized was emanating from a circular gemstone in the middle of the platform. Drawing in his breath, he carefully focussed on keeping balance, as he walked across the first bridge towards the light. 

There was no rail on either side and dust particles rippled in waves through the redness. Obi-Wan focussed, meditative, on his feet, one at a time moving forward in space. When he finally came to the center, he exhaled deeply, letting his breath steady as he gazed at the strange symbols of the ancient Sith etched into the stone. 

“Hello?” A voice echoed behind him.

Obi-Wan spun around, lightsaber at the ready. The suspended voice was coming from where he had stood just seconds ago. Obi-Wan would know that voice anywhere, deep and smooth with a slight lilt. Calming, knowing. 

“Qui-Gon?” he called out into the darkness. There was no familiar twinkle of light.

He glanced forward and then back again, trying to locate it. Perhaps it was just a trick, an illusion. Obi-Wan could feel his breath quicken again, chest rising and falling. He lurched forward towards the red stone. It was about half the length of his lightsaber, embedded into the ground. The longer he stared into it, the more natural his breathing seemed to come. It was a trance, a small thought in the back of his mind insisted, a trick. Obi-Wan felt his feet carrying him away, down the hall from where he came, knowing full well that his physical body was rooted in place. Or did he? Everything felt murky and unsettled, like he was under water.

“Help me, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon’s voice was weaker now, coming from below him. Obi-Wan ran towards it, vertigo kicking in as he skidded to a halt in front of ten whitening knuckles along the edge of the bridge. Qui-Gon was holding on for dear life below him, swinging over the gaping cavern. Obi-Wan felt his stomach turn over itself again.

“Give me your hand,” he pleaded, softly, the only thing between his Master and the darkness. Qui-Gon extended his arm and Obi-Wan heaved him up. The older man felt as heavy as solid stone. He pulled desperately, frantically, sweat pouring down his back.

“You’re not making this easy, Master,” he hissed through gritted teeth, “Push while I pull, please, do something”

Qui-Gon’s fingers slipped gently, his will to hold on lessening, “You are not strong enough to save me?” His Master’s voice sounded hollow, betrayed. Obi-Wan pulled with all his might, grappling for hands in the darkness. 

“No!” Obi-Wan called desperately, “I didn’t mean that, I didn’t -”

A ear-shattering scream as he watched his Master fall into the darkness. Hair billowing like wings around his head. As if it could catch it, save him, Obi-Wan begged the Force to do what he could not.

“You were never enough,” Qui-Gon’s voice was cracked, spiteful, fully audible from the bottom of the cave, from Chaos, from wherever he was, “You never moved on, never released your attachments and now you’re  _ broken _ .”

“One job, you had, to save him so that he could train the Chosen One,” From the other side of the cave, Obi-Wan heard Yoda’s smile mocking him before he spun around to see it, “Failed, you have. Failed to save them both.”

Obi-Wan felt dampness, blood or tears, his whole existence seemed to drip.

“No, you failed!” he screamed into the darkness, voice resounding like something tangible, “You all failed! That’s why I’m still here fighting!”

“Fighting for what, you are?” Yoda’s voice was too level as he stared at the broken pieces of the former Jedi, “For power, glory, for  _ him?” _

His mind twitched with embarrassment, disgust and shame as he felt Yoda filing through his memories like he was an old holonovel, open and discarded. The stories that shaped who they were, the Team, the halves that forged a whole, pieces to be put together - flooded to the surface. Anakin, Anakin,  _ his  _ Anakin.

“Love Anakin Skywalker, you do,” Yoda said, “and by that, failed him, you have.”

“No,” Obi-Wan sat on the bridge, suspended between the platform and the entrance. In limbo, in the middle, in the grey-red light that twined and dimmed all around him, “No. I have not failed him yet.”

Something strange and exhilarating was coming over him, a tingling he had not experienced since he and Anakin had shared a training bond so many years ago. How long he had been here talking to the shadows, Obi-Wan was not sure. Hours, days, weeks, it didn’t matter. Somewhere out there, Anakin was in danger. Something was amiss. Mullins had lied. There was no holocron within this temple. 

Obi-Wan stumbled to his feet, and ran wildly for the door. It opened for him on touch, as he reached deep into the guttural depths of the Dark side. Begeren didn’t look any different through hard yellow eyes, but Obi-Wan knew. Air rushed past him, feather light, as the speeder kicked into gear towards the base.


	16. Chapter XV: Of Betrayal

The first time, Anakin awoke to the heady rush of saline, as he breathed in around a moist bandage that covered his mouth and nose. His entire body felt heavy and he couldn’t form words, but his eyes darted back and forth, taking in a blurred rush of greyish white figures.

“He’s waking!” a male voice said, echoing within his mind. He desperately strained to see who was speaking. Everything was flickering in and out. The best he could make out were dark and light shapes. Was it a nightmare? The world seemed surreal, dreamlike, as if he could only see the core essence of beings instead of their physical form.

“Get him -- somebody get another syringe,” he could place this voice as Availia, the rebel doctor with whom he had never learned to see eye to eye, “Only use half, no! You’ve overdosed him!”

“What’s going to happen?” Another female voice. More gruff, throaty.

“I don’t honestly know.” Availia’s clipped accent was strained. Anakin felt a warmth against his forehead. Was he dying? The thought crossed his fragmented mind as he blinked, trying to make sense of the haze. He fought against his drooping eyelids, trying desperately to find the Force, to pull them open mechanically. He reached out into nothingness, couldn’t feel anything on the other side. The struggle was futile. A sharp pain in the crux of his elbow. His head knocked against something hard and cold.

 

The second time Anakin woke up, it was to a slap across his face, the whir of a ship in motion, and a familiar pair of red, pupilless eyes deeply set in wrinkled blue skin.

“Cad Bane.” Anakin’s lips felt fat and limp, as he tried to make sense of the situation. He hadn’t seen the bounty hunter in a long time, not since the Clone Wars. Had he been drugged? Dread crept slowly through him as the bounty hunter slapped him once again, stinging his cheek.

“The very same.” Bane tipped his hat, his smooth drawl quiet by Anakin’s ear.

“What...did you do to me?” Anakin’s heart raced in his chest as he tried to move his head from side to side, only to be met by stiffness. He couldn’t feel the Force.  _ He couldn’t feel the Force.  _ Breath caught in his chest as he raised his voice and repeated the question, “WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?”

“He’s just as impatient as always,” A cold female voice said. Anakin recognized it as the same one from earlier, that he couldn’t identify. He tried to angle his head to no avail. Whatever was in his bloodstream was restricting his motor skills and his Force powers. And his thoughts were still fuzzy. He bit his lip, as the second bounty hunter came into view. 

He recognized her too, by the pallid skin, wild eyes, and distinctive hair: all bald except a knot in the center. Aurra Sing. His eyes widened as hers narrowed, gazing at him like a specimen.

“Lord Vader, the Defector,” she smirked, “You were pathetically easy to find, and we paid them less than a fraction of what we’re getting for you.”

No, that couldn’t be. Anakin shook his head, as best he could. The rebels traded him for money? Maybe this was part of the plan, whatever Obi-Wan was doing. He had been so secretive about it when he had left. Anakin searched for some kind of connection, a purpose. The rebels were  _ good,  _ they were supposed to have been  _ good, _ how could they have sold him like property? He remembered the long line of confrontations, the progress he had made. The young child on their very first night at the base, telling him about her father’s anecdote.  _ Never trust an Empire Rat. _ Anakin shivered, as a realization set in: two months of repentance couldn’t bring back the dead.

“It’s your fault,” Bane growled at Sing, “he’s half conscious and I need him talking.”

Anakin felt cold all over, glaring at Bane, trembling. It had to be the Separatists, he thought hazily, trying to place where he was, again, and why. “Dooku’s behind this, isn’t he?” Anakin’s lips shook, “You bounty hunters should learn to stop...should learn to stop...the Republic...will pay twice as much for a Jedi like me…”

“A Jedi?” Bane snorted. One of the three Banes, that is, that was dancing in front of Anakin’s eyes.

“Knock him out again,” he heard Sing suggest from the pilot’s seat, “He’s clearly in no state to talk. We’ll try again tomorrow.”

 

The third time, Anakin’s eyes opened full and bright, as though a shockwave had gone through him. His thoughts were clearer and his connection to the Force fuzzy and light. He rolled his neck around, loosening the joints with a crack, as he took in his surroundings: a light freighter. Cad Bane once again stood over him, the overhead lights casting a pale artificial glow across his blue skin. His hands and feet were bound to the seat.

“Darth Vader,” Bane greeted him once more, “Let’s make this brief, shall we?”

“Cad Bane,” Anakin gritted his teeth in anger, eyes flashing, “Let me guess, we’re en route to Coruscant?”

“Astute,” the Duros’s face remained stony, “and perhaps. But first I need you to tell me what planet your Jedi friend is on. There was no trace of him on Begeren.”

Relief flooded over Anakin. There was hope then, that Obi-Wan was out there somewhere - safe, alive. Reflexively, he smiled and then twisted his lips into something more manic and sinister. “Jedi? Obi-Wan Kenobi is dead. He was of no use to me.”

A raucous female laugh from the pilot seat. Aurra Sing spun around, giving Bane a knowing look. He produced something from the bag at his hip. It was the same outdated datapad that Obi-Wan had been using almost every day since Anakin had found it for him. Anakin shuddered. When he had asked Obi-Wan what he was writing, his former Master had only answered “a record.” As much as Anakin had wanted to look at it, he had restrained himself. Now, he cursed himself for that restraint. 

“I find it hard to believe that Kenobi is dead,” Bane said sharply. Powered up the device. Began to read.

“ _ There’s something off about this planet. I feel afraid - not of Anakin, who seems to be adjusting well - and not of our rebel allies. There is something within myself that has come closer to the surface here. Begeren is strong with the Dark side. I feel myself growing short on patience, I feel myself succumbing to something. My connection to the Light side is growing more tenuous and that scares me. The Darkness is cyclical. It eats at me through my fear. And something else. Anakin doesn’t seem affected. He is thriving, training the men here. I watch him and I can’t shake the feeling that I want him, want to reclaim what we had together. He wants redemption and I might just slip up and give it to him.”  _

Bane made a face. “I don’t even understand half of this nonsense. Care to explain to me why someone who is so keen on earning someone’s trust would turn around and kill them?”

Anakin’s heart raced. Obi-Wan  _ wanted  _ him, what they had once had together. Suddenly, Anakin wanted more than anything to get a hold of that datapad and read through it, each and every detail, learn all of Obi-Wan’s private thoughts about him - shameful as that might be. If he ever made it out of this and saw Obi-Wan again -

` “Well?” Bane demanded, “You’re not overdosing anymore, boy, start talking.” 

“I honestly didn’t know my old Master had gotten so soft,” Anakin laughed coldly, channelling Vader, “All of that nonsense about the Dark side of the Force? That was a Sith mind trick, Bane. Planets don’t hold Force energy like that. I was toying with him. I wanted him, yes, but I wanted him to be Sith. When he wouldn’t Fall, I killed him.”

“You saved him just so you could kill him, mere months later?” Bane’s eyes narrowed, “Save yourself the pain and trouble. Tell me where Kenobi is.”

“His body” Anakin took a deep breath, “is somewhere in a cave on Kalsunor if it hasn’t become silooth dung.”

The second slap stung against his cheek, fast and unexpected. Bane glowered over him. “You lie. Where is he, Vader? Tell me now or we’ll have to resort to other methods.”

“He’s. Dead.” Anakin repeated quietly, focussing on his anger. All he wanted was to tell Cad Bane that he had the wrong man, to reveal Tam Mullins as the one who knew Obi-Wan’s true location. He would revel in seeing Mullins exposed to every method these filthy bounty hunters knew - wipe that unassuming smile off of his face. But Mullins would break. Anakin wouldn’t. And Obi-Wan was more important to him than any petty desire for revenge.

Anakin channelled his hatred of the rebels. He pictured them somewhere, safe and warm - sitting on a pile of credits and two months worth of hard training. It wasn’t two months lost, not really. He would have done it all again, just to see Obi-Wan smile, to see the pride in his eyes. 

They had taken that smile from him. Anakin pictured Obi-Wan somewhere isolated and alone and felt anger flare inside him, so hot and powerful, he imagined slicing through the bindings.

“If I get out of this alive,” the Force was a small fizzle within him and the chain twitched, his eyes flashing desperate, hard and yellow, “I will rip you both limb from limb,  _ slowly.  _ You’ll feel every ligament snap.”

“Silence,  _ boy _ ,” Bane hissed, drawing a thin electrifying rod from his belt, “I’m only interested in Kenobi. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

“Then go find him before he rots,” Anakin looked more like Vader now, as Bane stabbed his organic arm with the rod, issuing a painful shock throughout Anakin’s body. He recoiled, biting his lip to keep down a scream, fully prepared to die before revealing that Obi-Wan was alive. 

\---

_ “Five days in transit between here and the Outer Rim is a lot better when you are going willingly, _ ” Bane read from the datapad. Anakin wasn’t sure what time it was, morning or night, or how long they had been travelling. His eyes hung heavy and his head throbbed, but each time his eyes began to shut, Bane would nudge him with the rod again. Every so often - Anakin had estimated that it was by the hour at first, but now time seemed looser and uncoordinated - he would be dosed with a small dose of the drug that dulled his connection with the Force. At different, equally random intervals, Bane would read a passage from the diary and question Anakin on what it meant. He was sure that Bane had been repeating sections, but couldn’t remember exactly what he had said last time. Sweat poured down his back and he could smell his own filth surrounding him. He would break soon.

Anakin focussed on his teeth, in lew of the Force, running his tongue over their grooves within his gums. He tensed his knuckles, and pushed his feet forward in his shoes. At some point, Aurra Sing relieved his inquisitor and took his place. She proved to be a lot more liberal with her use of the electric rod. Anakin ached all over. His mouth had developed sores from where he had bit too hard on his cheeks, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of hearing him scream. His heart raced. His muscles twitched.

_ Five days in transit between here and the Outer Rim is a lot better when you are going willingly,  _ Anakin thought to himself over and over again, picturing Obi-Wan’s accent in his mind, the sardonic lilt. Five days. Five.  _ Obi-Wan will come save me,  _ he thought to himself - a vague comfort turning into raw fear, as he let Sing tilt his head, funneling in meager drops of sandy water. It was the only way he could survive this, so he told himself again and again. For Obi-Wan, Anakin couldn’t break. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternative torture scenes:
> 
> The second slap stung against his cheek, fast and unexpected. Bane glowered over him. “Where is he, Vader? You tell me now or we’ll have to resort to...other methods.”  
>  From a storage compartment below the pilot’s seat, Anakin heard the shuffle of dusty plastic. Tilting his head to get a better look, he saw Aurra Sing holding up a crinkled bag. It was labelled “Industrial Grade Sand”.   
>  “NOOOOOOOOO!”
> 
> The second slap stung against his cheek, fast and unexpected. Bane glowered over him. “Where is he, Vader? You tell me now or we’ll have to resort to...other methods.”  
>  From a storage compartment below the pilot’s seat, Anakin heard the shuffle of dusty plastic. Tilting his head to get a better look, he saw Aurra Sing holding up an old VHS. It was labelled “Jar Jar and Queenie Home Sex Tape”.  
>  “NOOOOOOOOO!”
> 
> Hope you all are enjoying this so far.


	17. Chapter XVI: Gone

The speeder whirred to a halt beneath Obi-Wan’s legs, as he stopped at the entrance to the base. The sandbanks swept silently before him - too silently - jagged rocks empty of the usual scattering of rebels. From the position of the sun, he would guess it was midday - that Anakin should be finishing up with the first half of training. In the dusty training field, however, there was nobody to be found.

Heart pounding in his chest, Obi-Wan pulled the speeder up a gear, hot dry air rushing past his face as he flew towards the apartment block. The Force was calling out to him, a fresh power in every breath he drew. Something was horribly wrong. Visions within the Force, Obi-Wan knew, are often misinterpreted. This pull, however, was something else entirely.

He jumped off the speeder while it was still in motion, landing neatly on his feet. Ran like his life depended on it. Burst through the door into the hallway, where the wide brown eyes of a child met his own - bright and hot as molten gold and just as dangerous. He sprung like a viper, grabbed the boy’s shoulders with urgency.

“What’s going on?” demanded Obi-Wan, “where is everyone?”

The child looked at him like he was a monster, a demon, a Sith. Obi-Wan released him and ran past into the open door of a stranger’s apartment.

Inside, a plump woman with a glass eye froze, hands settled on an open suitcase. Obi-Wan stormed over to her, his eyes drinking up the scene. Where was she planning on going? He surveyed the contents of her bag, a row of neatly folded bandages, spare clothes and tubes of medicinal ointment spread across the suitcase that sat on her bed.

“What is this?” he asked, gesturing to the array, “Where is Anakin Skywalker?”

The woman reached instinctively for the comlink on her wrist.

“Code 42,” she said urgently, “Repeat, Code 42.”

Obi-Wan lunged.

“You will tell me what is going on.” One hand passed up and over in a practiced gesture, as the other gripped her arm like a vice. She tried to shake it free, only causing him to grip tighter. Obi-Wan pushed her towards the wall behind the bed, cornering her like a hungry predator. Of course the mind trick hadn’t worked - his heart was racing with emotions, murky hot fear, rage, and love. Losing Anakin was not an option ever again.

A crash from the doorway was quickly followed by the sound of a child wailing. He released the woman’s arm, pushing her in front of him. With a wail, she fell to the bed, crashing forward onto her stomach. Five more rebels rushed into the tiny room, blasters readied. Obi-Wan didn’t have time to think. The floor under him gave a loud creak as he reached within the Force to push the rebels back, bones cracking as they flew into walls. Obi-Wan devoured the darkness. Begeren fed back. Like a puppeteer, he drew the glass-eyed woman’s limp body against his own, saber to her throat. The rebels watched, prone, helpless.

“Now, there’s no need for violence,” Obi-Wan’s voice was twisted, heavy breath between words, as he held the woman in front of him, walking in front of the bed and out into the main room, “All I want is a pleasant conversation.”

“He wouldn’t kill her,” one of the rebels whispered to the others, “keep your blasters trained.”

Obi-Wan’s head tilted back in a low laugh. He felt something snap within him, a pressure release, the vacuum filling with Begeren. His saber was perilously close to the woman’s flesh. Obi-Wan knew how it felt to have that hum by his ear, to feel its heat.

“I would not hesitate to kill all of you,” he said, relishing the fear in their eyes, “but I think that sort of thing is quite unnecessary, if you comply with my demands.”

“Don’t listen to him!” the woman in his arms sobbed, “Leave me! It’s too dangerous.”

“Lower your blasters,” Obi-Wan smiled, brow twitching. They complied.

“Wh-what are your demands?” Obi-Wan recognized this rebel as the teenage rodian who worked security for the mess hall. He was shaking, black eyes reflective and wide. Obi-Wan realized how strange and manic he must look, the woman’s body weight heavy against his own. Between thick unnatural breaths, his laughter sounded strange and foreign, the music of a madman.

“You tell me where Mullins is, where Availia and Oxben are. And most importantly, you tell me where Anakin is.”

The rodian looked from side to side at his fellow rebels and shifted uneasily. From the hallway, outside the open door, Obi-Wan could hear the clatter of more footsteps. The room felt cramped and hot, smelled of sweat and fear. Five more rebels poured in, stepping over bodies, led in the center by Mullins. Shock and determination rivaled each other in his grey eyes, as he charged forwards.

“Open fire!” He shouted, as Obi-Wan readied his weapon in a Shien stance, the woman in his arms practically seizing as he dropped her to the ground, a pile of heaving breath.

This confined room was no place for blaster combat. Obi-Wan’s lightsaber danced in tight movements as he pushed himself forward over the ancient table, lunging at the rebel leader. Obi-Wan deflected their bolts with ease, letting them ricochet and reverse and they tried to dodge their own fire.

There was no space to evade his precise redirection of the bolts. Soon, Obi-Wan could hear the screams of agony fill his ears, shrieks tapering into silence. His Force fed on it, empowering him further - an entirely new feeling - halfway between giddy and disgusted. Shifting his stance, he sliced directly down through the barrel of Mullins’ blaster, rendering it useless. It fell to his feet, scraps. The rebel pushed him back with surprising strength, Obi-Wan toppling down over the heap of bodies as he swung to deflect a rebel behind him, just in time.

He couldn’t pinpoint when he stopped deflecting and started slashing, wildly, rapidly, like something trapped and helpless. One name with every heartbeat. _Anakin._ With every stab and scream.  Obi-Wan pictured himself imploding like the Jedi Temple. Gone. A structure built to last, blown to pieces. In his place, stood something greater, wilder, Darker. The monster was carnal, blazing with something that Obi-Wan could only describe as lust. His movements were practiced and sure which made for a deadly combination.

Blood, thick and repulsive soaked Obi-Wan’s boots, a result of blaster fire spinning back to target squirming bodies. Cotterized limbs. Burning flesh. Heaving ribs. Disgusting. Delicious. Moans mingled with the whir of blasters until they drowned them out completely; until there were no fingers left to pull the trigger.

Mullins, too, now lay disarmed and wounded in front of him. The last of them.

“Where is he?” Obi-Wan hissed, “You tell me what you did with him.”

Mullins stared back at him, a heavy sadness in his eyes. The grey-brown hair splayed out across the floor, as his chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. He looked almost disappointed, as the childlike faith on his face was suddenly replaced by the grave realization that he was about to die. Could Obi-Wan have looked like this during the three days before his death sentence? No. Obi-Wan realized in a wave of fury that Mullins looked like Qui-Gon. Why did everyone have to look like Qui-Gon? _Why couldn’t dead things stay dead?_

Suddenly, Obi-Wan longed for a world without Force spirits. The thought that had once comforted him now seemed positively repulsive. There was no running from his failure, as cold as the eyes of the rebel leader staring back into the fire of his own. They extinguished it. Mullins looked almost pitying.  

“You might as well kill me,” the injured man whispered, his mouth curving into a dark smile, “I would rather die for the rebellion than betray it.”

Obi-Wan didn’t flinch in his gaze as he drove his lightsaber through his heart. “Come and tell me I betrayed you!” he shouted to no one in particular. To Mullins, perhaps, though he was not alive to hear him. To the Jedi Order. To Qui-Gon. “Say it to me.”

To himself.

 

\---

 

He stormed into the medical bay where the Force directed him to Availia’s shivering body. Thin white robes clung tightly to her figure as she huddled staring blankly at her comm. The realization hit Obi-Wan like a boulder, the weight of it heavier than he could have imagined. The connection had remained open, from the woman who had fallen from Obi-Wan’s arms. Availia had heard her husband die.

She shook with sobs, not even looking up as he stood over her.

“Where is he?” Obi-Wan felt his lips move around the words.

“Gone,” Availia whispered, in a different world, “he’s gone.”

 

\---

 

They hadn’t touched that old Republic cruiser since Obi-Wan had gotten here, and now its absence in the hangar was almost as startling as the absence of the rebels who piloted it. A few starfighters remained behind in its wake. Mullins and Availia must have been hanging back to evacuate the last of their rebels. From the looks of it, Availia was escorting those with special medical needs personally, to thieve a larger ship with a proper medical bay or to settle on a close by world.  With Obi-Wan distracted in the Sith temple, there was nothing that could have stood in their way. They had sold Anakin like a slave to whatever scum would buy him. If Obi-Wan had to guess, the bounty hunters would be headed to Coruscant right now to collect their prize. If they hadn’t already landed.

Obi-Wan didn’t know if Anakin was dead or alive. For as much as he grappled with the Living Force, as much as he struggled for the answer, it evaded him. He had taken the box of plans from the safe in the meeting room, left ajar. This must have been where Mullins was called from, collecting the blueprint for their stealth mission against the Empire. There was a series of passages in the senate building’s underground mapped out neatly on a datapad -- the contents of an old Jedi holocron, seized by the Empire and opened by Vader. He felt sadness and regret well up inside of him.

Perhaps they had still planned to carry out the mission in his absence. Perhaps they planned to take what they had gotten in exchange for Anakin and sit on it, building up resistance underground. Obi-Wan pocketed the datapad, scrubbing his face with his palm.

The body that his restlessness inhabited was still real, no matter the color of his Force presence, no matter the color of his eyes. His beard still scratched against his fingers, nose still felt warm, air still pulsed through his lungs. Something damp and slightly tacky was smudged below his eyes. He swiped the fluid and sniffed at it, inhaling raw iron. Somebody else’s blood, certainly.

When he climbed back to the surface, he sat on a flat rock in the swelling silence, letting the sand cling to the blood on his boots, caking and covering it. The sun sank lower in the sky, glinting luminescent on the heads of gemstones; dancing with ghosts. In the silence, Obi-Wan felt his chains break. He felt his collection of rules, doubts, expectations spill out of him, as he sobbed the blue back into his eyes. _Empty,_ Obi-Wan thought, _Darkness is empty. Heartbreak isn’t any less empty the second, third, fourth time around._

Obi-Wan wiped his eyes on a rough sleeve, inhaling crisp bantha leather and his own sweat. He couldn’t give up yet. Anakin might still be out there, waiting on trial, or suspended in hyperspace. He had to hang on, for Anakin - his last thread of purpose. As long as he had purpose, he had hope. As long as he had hope, Obi-Wan would throw everything towards it. Like he had always done.

With a map and a plan, Obi-Wan set out for a starfighter that could double as a courier vessel. As the ship sped towards vast dark sky, Obi-Wan prayed for the Force to be with him. He felt the peaceful hum whir all around him but felt uneasy, suspended; neither Sith nor Jedi, but cursed with the burden of connection to this great and vast mystery. A universal pull he was forced to harness but could never truly understand. The Force was deadly, sickening, beautiful - a boundless container of multitudes.


	18. Chapter XVII: Yellow & Blue

From the rows of holojournals across the fuelling station wall, Anakin’s eyes stared back at him, unflinching. The orange zippered prisoner’s garb looked bulky over his compression suit and his hair hung greasy over his eyes. A bold-faced headline below his picture carried Obi-Wan’s eyes downwards.  _ The Defector Awaits Public Execution.  _ Obi-Wan picked one of them out, scrolling through for information. His hood was pulled tightly over his face, obscuring his own incredibly valuable features.

“You going to buy that?” The clerk was scrawny for a besalisk and spoke with a thick Ojomi accent. It made Obi-Wan wonder what he was even doing all the way out here in the middle of nowhere, so far from his home. He tilted his head away from the clerk’s penetrating gaze, making sure his eyes stayed obscured. 

“Er,” If Obi-Wan hadn’t used the last of the credits that he had found on the ship for fuel, he would have just bought the damned thing.  _ Too good for petty theft but not too good for the murder?  _ Obi-Wan hummed out the incredulous voice in the back of his head. “Just looking.”

“Times up,” The besalisk snatched the thing out of his hand and returned it to the rack, “You wanna read it, you gotta buy it.”

Obi-Wan glanced around the station. The only other client seemed to be taking a nap by the wide window that looked out onto the planet’s red rock surface. He breathed in deeply, praying that the Force would condone him flipping it back and forth, squeezing power out of the Dark side and the Light. Obi-Wan raised his fingers tentatively.

“You will let me take this holojournal with me on my journey.” He bit his lip. Hope was a Light side feeling, right? Obi-Wan couldn’t seem to remember.

“I will let you take this copy with you on your journey.” The besalisk’s eyes glazed in a brainwashed haze, as Obi-Wan breathed a sigh of relief.

In the safety of his courier ship, the former Jedi skimmed the article - one hand squeezing the seat below him and the other scrolling through. There was no date listed for the execution, but a promise that an announcement of the event would be given in three days. Hope, Obi-Wan thought, was no different than other half truths. 

His eyes drifted towards the date of the journal’s publication, hands growing weak and sweaty as he realized that it was a week old. He cursed the Empire. Information never used to take this long to reach the Outer Rim. 

 

\---

 

Lightspeed wasn’t fast enough. Obi-Wan couldn’t eat, could barely sleep. Could only think of one name and in the absence of him, the obliteration of the system that had destroyed it. Thoughts of vengeance weren’t new to Obi-Wan Kenobi, but its fruition was. It tasted like raw power, sustained him for the first few days. On the third, faint and trembling, he broke into his rations and the grim reality overtook him. There was a good chance that he was too late.

 

Landing his ship in the industrial hangar by the vast expanse of a certain, familiar warehouse was not his brightest idea. Out on the street, imperial troopers swarmed through alleyways. From up above, their white helmets looked like beetles crawling over each other in the dirt. The largest concentration was stationed directly outside of the warehouse. Obi-Wan breathed in deeply as he watched them, and shivered. The air here was cool against his skin, but less than soothing. The security had increased at least tenfold, which meant that they would be looking for him -- that they already expected him. He was walking into a trap.

The hangar itself was a huge space, the open landing platforms giving way to a covered area, where imperial ships of all kinds were parked. In the interior part of the building, a set of stairs offered way down towards the ground level. Fluorescent white lights along the ceiling emitted a dim glow, but the entrance still felt tunnel-like, narrowing the further in it went. As Obi-Wan made his way into the core of the building, he noticed that alarm wires ran under the lights, connecting to a console in the center. 

The beginnings of a plan began to formulate in his mind, as he came to the top of the stairs, pausing to look from side to side. There were no troopers stationed all the way up here, but he imagined that they would be waiting at the bottom. He reached to his hip, feeling his lightsaber’s heaviness in his hand, a reminder of why he was here and what he had to do. Brow furrowing in concentration, Obi-Wan switched it on, letting the dull bluish glow illuminate the durasteel rail in front of him. With a steady hand, he let the metal give way to the saber’s concentrated heat. A small section of the rail, only about an arm’s length, sprung free from the rest and clattered at his feet, echoing off of the crude duracrete walls.

Frantically, Obi-Wan dipped behind a nearby cruiser. From where he was, he couldn’t look over the edge to see if the troopers below had heard the clatter. Without thinking further, he bent to pick up the piece of rail and ran towards the open part of the platform. 

Below him, Obi-Wan could see a group of three troopers guarding this side of the building. He lifted the rail segment, clenching it tightly through the Force and hurled it overhead. After what seemed like an eternity, it hit the ground with a heavy thunk as the leftmost trooper fell. Obi-Wan heard a loud expletive and the patter of feet towards the staircase. 

Now was his chance. Trusting the Force to catch him, Obi-Wan flung himself from the hangar. Air rushed back, the force of which pushed his hood back from his face as he careened downwards. He steadied himself beside the fallen trooper on his feet. From around the corner of the building, four more came running, blasters aimed directly at him. 

“Stand down!” the leader ordered, as Obi-Wan grabbed the unconscious guard’s blaster. 

“Not likely.” He murmured through gritted teeth as he squinted, taking aim. It had been years since he had shot one of these things. He cursed himself for not taking up Anakin’s offer to join his accuracy training and let the trigger go, missing the incoming troopers by inches. The barrage of incoming fire was drawing attention. 

Obi-Wan sighed. He would have to do this the hard way. Drawing the Force’s energy within him, he pushed his attackers back and heaved the unconscious trooper’s body over his shoulder. With all of the strength he could muster, Obi-Wan ran. 

 

\---

 

Yellow and blue. The cones in the retina responded obversely to light that travelled through each color. Obi-Wan couldn’t recall much else from his brief introduction to color theory. He had spent too much of that painting class unfocused. Qui-Gon had signed him up for the damned thing against his will and it had irritated the padawan to no end.

“It’s unnecessary,” Obi-Wan had said with a scowl, “Drawing a realistic portrait won’t help me master the Force.”

“Maybe not,” Qui-Gon had responded, “but I think it will be good for you.”

Yellow and blue. Obi-Wan focused, the air taxi rumbling beneath him. Complimentary. 

He couldn’t see very well out of the heavy white helmet he had taken. It was no wonder that the new human volunteers couldn’t aim. His fingertips ran across the dent in the back from the durasteel rail he had dropped and his eyes squeezed tightly shut. Did it matter their color?

 

\---

 

Breath held in the cool dampness of the Imperial underground, Obi-Wan gazed around in awe. Before studying Anakin’s map, he had had no idea that such an intricate system existed. Dusty metal generators and storage shelves with decades worth of vitamin-packed foodstuffs, all neatly stored in cans and bottles, loomed high over him. Droid parts and old weapons and odds and ends that Obi-Wan couldn’t place were stacked on the duracrete flooring. It looked like a graveyard for generations. He supposed this was where senators would go to hide out if there was ever a threat during the days of the Republic.

Obi-Wan glanced at the map on the datapad, marking which hallway he should go down and let his ears adjust from city noise to nothingness. It was eerily silent. Each step Obi-Wan took echoed softly below him, no matter how much effort he put into being light on his feet. He could feel his sweat beneath the stolen armor, especially where the helmet’s band met his forehead. It dripped salty into his eyes as he sidestepped to avoid a crate of ammo. 

_ Anakin, _ thought Obi-Wan, desperately reaching for their ghost of a bond,  _ Qui-Gon, anyone.  _ In response, a quiet scuttling noise came from the shadows at his feet. Obi-Wan started, bending over in the bulky armor to examine it. A pair of shiny reddish eyes peered out at him from under a shelf. Obi-Wan removed the helmet, kneeling to get a better look at the small black rat blending into the darkness. 

It remained unphased, staring back at him, head tilting from side to side in a jerking twitchy motion. Obi-Wan extended a hand towards the floor and closed his eyes, reaching through the Force towards the tiny creature.  _ It’s okay, _ he assured himself as much as the beast,  _ I won’t hurt you.  _ Uneasy thoughts of Anakin and the silooth clouded his mind and the rat ducked back, disappearing where Obi-Wan could no longer see.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi,” a soft voice behind Obi-Wan startled him out of his concentration, “It’s true, then. You’ve Fallen.”


	19. Chapter XVIII: The Beast-Tamer

Sidious’s eyes burned beneath his hood, as Obi-Wan’s flashed to match them, like four hideous suns. The former Jedi drew his saber and readied his stance. How had he not heard the Sith Lord approach? How had he known where to find him?

“Sidious,” Obi-Wan hissed, feet grounded in place, “Where’s Anakin?”

“Like an insect to rotting garbage,” the older man’s smile was sinister, “You took the bait, Kenobi. Anakin Skywalker died when your precious Jedi Order betrayed him.”

“Vader, then,” Obi-Wan had no time for this. He moved a pace forward, arching his body in a threatening stance - prepared to kill. It seemed to delight Sidious further.

“You seem a formidable opponent, Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Sidious’s voice was almost playful, sizing him up, “now, freshly Turned. How does real power feel?”

“Tell me what you’ve done with Anakin,” Obi-Wan’s voice was quiet and determined as he charged forwards. Sidious activated his saber and parried with ease, the clashing of sabers casting a soft purple light.

“You crave my seat as Galactic Emperor,” Sidious’s voice was nearly cracking with mirth, as Obi-Wan desperately generated shields, trying to block out the invasive probing, “What an interesting turn of events.”

Obi-Wan swung again, rich amber eyes on his target.

“Where is he?” He could feel the words move between his lips again and again as his lunges became more desperate.  _ Where is he? Where is he?  _ Obi-Wan couldn’t tell if they were actual audible, or just in his head. It became meditative. All of his energy was focussed on his hatred for Sidious. His raw need for Anakin.

As a Jedi, Obi-Wan had been praised for his precision and focus, but all of his practice had been in focusing on clarity. Now, he couldn’t see through the cloud of hatred and desperation. His stance was off, his swings sloppy, each footfall hasty or unsure. The only steadiness came from the pulse in his blood, a reminder that he was alive. Obi-Wan was shattered and broken, but corporeal nonetheless. The hate flooded into every nerve ending, making his blood sing. He could feel it flood out of the uneven cracks, between the scars. As long as Obi-Wan was alive, he would fight. As long as Anakin was alive, he would have something to fight for.

Obi-Wan jumped back as Sidious hurled a shelf of rations towards him. He could feel his heart skip a beat as the glass shattered loudly at his feet. The red light of Sidious’s saber vanished. 

In the darkness of the passageway, the Force lightning was blinding. It snaked around Obi-Wan’s lightsaber and sunk its way into his skin, sending him spiralling into excruciating pain. He screamed into the darkness, convulsing on the ground where Sidious stood.  With each new burst, the Sith Lord’s grin grew wider. The former Jedi felt his body weaken with the white-hot bursts of pure energy, lift and shudder against his will.

Obi-Wan pulled himself up on his forearms, as Sidious knocked his lightsaber aside. _I was never any match for him,_ Obi-Wan thought, _the Dark side tempted me, it tricked me._ _I have failed again. I deserve my fate._

Red plasma activated inches from his chin, as the invisible icy tendrils pulled his body upwards like a limp doll. Obi-Wan’s eyes closed tightly. 

“Take what you want from me,” he whispered to Sidious, to the Force itself. He slumped back against the Sith Lord’s knees. Sidious interlaced his gloved fingers in his sweaty hair and pulled his blade to the crux of Obi-Wan’s neck.

“Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi has nothing left to offer me,” Sidious’s breath was hot and foul above him, “He is as dead as his apprentice.”

“So finish me then,” Obi-Wan managed to spit, “Finalize it. I’ve clearly overstayed my welcome.” 

_ Hope, after all, was a Light side feeling _ .

Sidious laughed deep and low, and it echoed in the darkness. The red glow only reached the Sith Lord’s smile, leaving his eyes shaded and menacing. Obi-Wan couldn’t shift, couldn’t shiver. His bones ached from the lightning and his skin seared hot underneath the armor.

“Finish you?” the Sith Lord’s smug tone indicated that he had no such aspirations, “and waste such potencial?”

The floor below Obi-Wan’s knees was as cold and hard as solid ice as Sidious let him drop. He summoned Obi-Wan’s discarded saber to his hand, letting go of his hair. 

“Anakin Skywalker is gone, the Jedi Order is gone, and now you want my power,” Sidious cooed, “you  _ crave  _ it.”

“Anakin is…” Obi-Wan’s voice was barely above a whisper. He pushed himself once again to his hands and knees, could feel the conflict in Sidious’s words. He shook his head. 

“Gone,” Sidious finished for him, “Just as you are,  _ Master Jedi.  _ His body breathes, his mind thinks, but Anakin Skywalker is gone.”

Obi-Wan’s breath was ragged and uneven on the floor as he tried to process Sidious’s words. Sidious had thought Anakin gone the first time as well. Against all odds, he had reemerged, slivers of his former self weaving together. Anakin was no less human than anyone else, no less capable of changing.

“You make your habit of turning Jedi,” Obi-Wan said dryly, “And I make my habit turning them back. If Anakin’s body is alive, then he is alive too.”

“Not this time.” The Sith Lord’s lips curled into a tight smile, “Look at you. Still convincing yourself that I’m evil and you’re good. You’re growing old, Kenobi, and denial doesn’t look so good on you anymore. Neither does idealism.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t help but remember those desert suns, the metallic smell of bantha blood as he wrung the salted meat along suspended wire, saying the same phrase quietly to himself, convincing himself that Anakin was gone. Denial had never been a choice for him. It had been a means of survival.

“What do you want from me?” 

Sidious flashed a glint of yellowing teeth. “Ah, finally I too get to experience the negotiations for which you get your reputation. I was beginning to think it was all a myth.” 

“Negotiations,” the former Jedi shifted forward on his knees, not quite mustering the strength to get up, “are best cultivated when sitting comfortably.” He grunted, sinking back to a seated position. 

“I assure you, we can make this brief. I only want to return to our old bargain.” 

“Three days to become Anakin’s apprentice?” Breathless, pathetic snark was better than none at all. Obi-Wan rubbed the bridge of his nose to ease the pounding.

“Better, actually, for you,” Sidious continued, “You crave power, I’m short an apprentice and together, we could become very strong. Unfortunately, I don’t have three days to wait on an answer.” 

His saber flickered off and on to emphasize the meaning that Obi-Wan would have caught, regardless.

“What about Anakin?”

“Anakin?” Sidious quirked an eyebrow, “He had his chance to be useful. You may keep him if you want, or what’s left of him. I’m afraid that the former Darth Vader is no longer any good as an apprentice to anyone. Still, I kept him alive for you should you choose to accept my offer. I hope it adds a degree of...motivation.”

“What did you do to him?” Obi-Wan’s voice raised slightly, as the primal anger flared up again.

“Oh, I’ll take you to him as soon as you pledge yourself to me. He’ll still be usable as a bed slave, although I don’t imagine a former Jedi would have much of an inclination. Of course, I’m sure we all have feelings that we... _ can’t quite shake _ .”

Obi-Wan could feel his face burn with equal amounts of shame and anger. _ The journal.  _ Sidious must have gotten his hands on the journal. He felt himself tremble in his skin as if the Dark side was a mighty beast inside of him, desperate to escape and destroy. But Obi-Wan was something equally dangerous: a beast-tamer. 

Obi-Wan could feel the Sith Lord’s gaze boring through him. In a more just world, he could have offered to throw him back to Tatooine alive. He could recover the farm, go on protecting Luke, drawing pictures of the past in bantha blood until a greater man than himself restored it. It wouldn’t have swayed him.

Obi-Wan was nothing without purpose. Obi-Wan was nothing with hope. 

He bowed low.

“I pledge myself to you.”

He rose.

“ _ Master. _ ”

Beneath the maze of wrinkles, something settled on Sidious’ face. Obi-Wan barely caught the glimpse of it, a fleeting moment of something human. Something like relief. 

“Good,” the Sith Lord extended an arm towards him, “You have made the right choice. We will bury Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi together and from this day forward, you be known as...Darth Lacuna.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lacuna: A blank space; a missing part. 
> 
> I read somewhere that according to the Darth Bane Trilogy, Sith names were chosen from words that would invoke thoughts of strong emotions from the person in question.


	20. Chapter XIX: Sacrifice

The air on the surface was clear and crisp after the dusty underground. Obi-Wan followed Sidious closely off of the lift, through the grey-carpeted hallways. He tried to ignore his breathlessness, the aching throughout his body from the Force lightning, and instead took note of his surroundings.

On one side of the hall, long glass windows overlooked the cityscape, where lights flickered on and off and the late afternoon traffic flooded the air highways. Obi-Wan could hear the hum and purr of speeders even from here, could see the glimmer far off in the distance, beyond the smog. It reminded him of lazy evenings in the Jedi temple when he was young. As padawans, he and Quinlan would play dejarik in the cool emptiness of unused meditation rooms during the last waning hours of daylight. When the traffic slowed outside the window, they would sneak back to their dormitories. This was always what Coruscant would be to Obi-Wan, for better or for worse. 

On the other side of the hall, rows of cells lined the wall, with numbers crudely painted on the cell doors. The rooms were padded and silenced, and Obi-Wan was almost certain that the barred glass was one-sided. This resulted in a zoo-like menagerie. They passed a man pacing back and forth within the narrow confines, counting over and over again on his fingers and muttering to himself. In the next cell over, an old mon calamari sat in the corner, sinking into himself, wide eyes staring up and hands clamped in the position of prayer. 

Everything about it was sterile and dehumanizing, and it made Obi-Wan feel extremely uncomfortable. He finally tore his eyes away as they came to the final cell in the row. Sidious activated the locking mechanism, as Obi-Wan braced himself at his Master’s side. 

As soon as the door slid upwards into the ceiling, the sterile illusion of the prison vanished. The smell of fecal matter, blood and sweat hit Obi-Wan’s nose in a nauseating wave as his eyes settled on a small figure in the corner. 

Anakin was a torso, wrapped in bacta tape. His limbs tapered into stubs before the knee and elbow joints. His cheeks were gaunt and flushing feverishly, and his hair was matted over his eyes. Obi-Wan rushed to his side, lifted a hand to graze his cheek. 

He shook his head and tried to will away the tears that were forming.

“Anakin?”

The younger man didn’t move, his eyes shifting in their sockets to a soft and restful close. Obi-Wan pressed two fingers to the tender spot below his ear where matted baby hairs clung tightly together in swathes. Anakin’s pulse came slow and sporadic. Where was his compression suit?  _ What had happened to him? _

“Get out of here,” Anakin warned him softly, weakly, from within the Force, “It’s a trap.”

Obi-Wan turned towards the doorway, where Sidious stood. He had placed himself just beyond the door, in the safety of the exterior. His hand was inches from the locking mechanism that could slam the door down between Obi-Wan and his new apprenticeship. In one quick movement, the Sith Lord could determine the both of their fates, let Obi-Wan and Anakin die together here as Imperial prisoners. 

“What have you done to him?” Growling the question was all Obi-Wan could do, as he advanced towards the door.

The corner of Sidious’s lip twitched, eyes level with Obi-Wan’s.  “He had his chance with arms and legs. He used them to defect from me. It’s more than fair.”

Obi-Wan ground his teeth together, steadied his breath. The world seemed to blur in and out, as rage obscured his vision, wet and blotchy. He could feel his own pulse rising, heat within his cheeks. Obi-Wan felt intoxicated by his own power. His hand shot out, twisting Sidious back into the room beside him. 

“Leave me,” Anakin urged again but it was dulled, muted out by Obi-Wan’s focus. Medically, his body had not recovered from the Force lightning. Physically, his skin still sizzled with its white-hot burn. But mentally.

_ Through victory, my chains are broken. _

Obi-Wan took a swipe at the Sith Lord through the Force, sending him flying towards the padded cell wall, head first. With surprising reflex, Sidious somersaulted through the air and kicked it. It propelled his body on contact and he landed neatly on his feet.

“You are so hasty to turn on me, my apprentice, but you should realize when you are outmatched,” Sidious had been ready for this. Of course he had been. “Stand down now and I’ll dismiss your insubordination as growing pains. Continue and you both will die. This is your final warning.”

Obi-Wan could feel his body move against his will, a sound like an engine, stifled laughter erupting from within. “It’s far too late for warnings.” It was the same quiet madness that had overtaken him with the rebels.

Sidious’ face darkened, as he raised his hands threateningly towards the two of them. “So be it.”

The familiar crackle of his Force lightning erupted from bent fingers, as streams of it bypassed Obi-Wan completely, aiming directly for Anakin. Obi-Wan’s eyes widened at Anakin’s scream of pain, unable to dodge it in his condition. Frantically, he Force-pushed Sidious towards the wall, but the lightning was unrelenting. Screams faded to breath, as Anakin wavered on the brink of life.

Without thought, Obi-Wan dove in front of him, taking the full brunt of the Force lightning to his chest. Searing pain coursed through him as he tackled Sidious to the ground. The lightning stopped. 

They were men, or beasts, Obi-Wan wasn’t sure. He held his enemy down, thrashing punches into the Sith Lord’s face. Obi-Wan was a vessel for his anger. He felt powerful, removed from the Force and his saber and all of his precious Jedi training. The Dark side was exhilarating, rushing through him, from his mind to his balled fists. One punch landed hard, and as Obi-Wan drew his fist back, blood rushed from Sidious’s nose. He looked at his own hand. When had he become so out of control? 

Then he felt his neck crack hard against the wall as Sidious used the Force to push him away. The Sith Lord scrambled to his feet, drawing his lightsaber and rushing towards his unarmed opponent. It’s tip left a shallow gash through the back of Obi-Wan’s armor, as Obi-Wan ducked below, just barely dodging it’s full force.

With his eyes lowered and concentration split, Obi-Wan didn’t see the second burst of lightning careening towards him until it was too late. Another head-on engagement with it would be too much for him. His eyes shut tightly, too late to dodge again. He was going to die here. He was going to die a Sith.  

 

In the span of a few short moments, three strange things happened. Obi-Wan felt his body being jerked away from the pulse lightning to land safely beside Anakin. As Sidious spun around in bewilderment, Obi-Wan felt an overwhelming wave of vitality wash over him. He could feel the pain seep away, relief sweep into his bones, muscles revitalized. As his eyes flashed open, Obi-Wan felt the ghost of his Force bond with Anakin vanish completely. To his side, Anakin’s eyes were closed and a peaceful smile graced his lips.

Obi-Wan screamed. 

Sidious laughed.

Obi-Wan cut his laughter like butter, turning it to a wheeze and then gradually to silence. His grip within the Force was tight and strong around the Sith Lord’s neck. The longer Obi-Wan held him there, suspended, struggling, the greater the power he felt coursing through him. Sidious’s hands joined the invisible ones around his throat, eyes bulging and face turning a grotesque purple. Obi-Wan squeezed the life out of the Emperor and didn’t stop until he stopped struggling. 

He let the most powerful person in the galaxy fall like a rock back into murky water and rushed to Anakin’s side. With a deep breath, Obi-Wan once again pressed two fingers to that tender place by his chin. It was still warm, so lifelike and soft, but there was no sign of a pulse. He tried again on the other side, with equally unsuccessful results.

Cold sweat settled on Obi-Wan’s neck as he took the Emperor’s comm into his shaking hands.

“This is Darth Lacuna, Emperor Palpatine’s new apprentice. The Emperor has been attacked,” he said softly, “we need a team of medics.  _ Now. _ I’ll send coordinates.”

Obi-Wan let the comm drop too, his own breath heaving in the silence as he cradled Anakin’s still torso in his arms. 


	21. Chapter XX: Coruscanti Grey

Anakin was running. Every footfall kicked up dust in clouds around him, every breath filled his lungs with warm, fresh air. In front of him, a white light glittered, teetering like a supernova on the edge of combustion. Anakin was enveloped, and by all account should have felt stifled, but instead his steps were leisurely and his lungs didn’t ache and his muscles seemed fit to run on and on forever. 

He passed through a twin sunset where a young boy was laughing, burying himself in sand.

“Luke!” called a disembodied voice from under the shade of thatch, “It’s dinner time!”

Anakin passed through a lush river valley, where a young girl was being held on a pair of broad shoulders. He felt peaceful, drifted through the trees - weightless, watching.

“Leia,” the man said, “do you see the sun rising on the mountain?”

Anakin turned his head to where the man, a blur all but his outstretched arm, was pointing. To the light ahead, the sun, the Force. Some called it by the names of gods or angels or simply ancient primitive magic. 

“I can’t look,” said the girl matter-of-factly, “it hurts my eyes.”

 

\---

 

“Yes, his pulse is back, sir, but he’s still teetering on the edge. It’s best we keep it monitored while we treat the infections,” an unfamiliar male voice said.

“And his lungs?” Obi-Wan’s voice was heavy with concern, “Can he breath alright?”

The intense shock of whiteness rippled through Anakin as his eyes shot open. He spluttered over the tube that extended out of his throat. Then, he drew in a hitched breath, as he became aware of the splintering pain in his abdominal muscles, and was once again met by darkness.  
  


\---

 

Anakin’s eyes fluttered open to meet the bright white lights of a hospital chamber. His body was slanted on a half-lifted cot, which was positioned beside a large empty bacta tank. The pain was gone, and he could feel a tight, constricting brace around his torso. Looking down, he could see the forms of mechanical limbs jutting from where his legs had been severed. More jarring yet was the hard black armor encapsulating his chest and stomach. Anakin stirred clumsily, unsure of how to operate this new body.

Just then, a medical droid clambered towards him, through the open door.

“Hello, Anakin Skywalker.” It greeted him, “I will alert the Emperor that you have awoken.”

“Wait!” Anakin yelled back, “Please!”

The droid was long gone by the time he finally pulled himself up. Anakin’s new legs felt unnatural beneath him. His torso lurched forward of its own volition as he willed the junction of his knees to bend. Anakin felt like a half-constructed AT-AT walker, wavering on unstable limbs. His upper body had lost its balance in his struggle to work his legs. He hurled towards the floor.

“Careful.”

Anakin looked towards the doorway where Obi-Wan stood, a deep blue tunic complimenting his sparkling eyes. He gawked up at him, as the memories flooded back.

“It’s alright,” His former Master extended his hand, “Let’s get you back in bed.”

Anakin let Obi-Wan help him to his feet, leaning heavily on the older man for support. With a great effort between them, they managed to get him back to the cot. 

“The -- the Emperor,” Anakin finally said, once he was situated as comfortably as the bulky armor would allow, a white cotton blanket pulled taut to his chin.

“He’s gone now,” Obi-Wan smiled, a gentle comfort. “I killed him. We killed him.”

The droid must have had faulty programming. Anakin breathed a sigh of relief. He never wanted to shut his eyes again, wanted to swim in the blue of Obi-Wan’s until it drowned him. 

“I have so many questions,” Anakin laughed shakily, “Please don’t leave, okay? And promise me it’s safe. Promise me I’m not dead.”

“You’re not dead,” Obi-Wan promised, a hand reaching out to brush the hair from Anakin’s eyes, “Not anymore, at least.”

“Oh.” Anakin bit his lip to test, as if a dead person couldn’t feel pain. His voice was laughably casual. “What happened?”

“Which part?”

“The part where I died? The part where the Emperor died? The part where I became an off-brand General Grievous?”

“A much handsomer General Grievous,” Obi-Wan laughed, leaning over to kiss Anakin softly on the shell of his ear. He buried his nose down into Anakin’s hair and sighed.

“It’s so strange.”

“What’s strange?” 

Ignoring his question, Obi-Wan gently nudged Anakin’s new mechnolimbs over on the bed, so that he could lay down beside him. They barely fit on the tiny cot together. Anakin felt uneasy as it groaned loudly beneath them.

“Mast -- Obi-Wan,” he warned, “That medi-droid is  _ not  _ going to be pleased with you.”

“Ssh.” Obi-Wan put a finger to Anakin’s lips, “Do you want to hear what happened or not?”

 

Obi-Wan didn’t censor anything, not even the part where he killed Mullins in cold blood. By the end of the story, he was flushing slightly pinker in the cheeks and his breath was coming a bit faster. Anakin thought it was rather charming.

“Darth Lacuna?” He quirked an eyebrow, and let out a bemused chuckle, “ _ That’s  _ what he named you? Lacuna sounds like a breed of loth-cat.”

Obi-Wan looked at him like he was totally thermal. Which, perhaps, he was.

“That’s what you take out of it? That my Sith name sounds funny? I murdered people, Anakin. I Fell. I have an entire Galactic Empire under my control now and you’re concerned with the Sith name he chose for me?”

“What do you expect me to do, Master, lecture you? Wouldn’t that be a little hypocritical?”

From the little huff he gave, Anakin supposed his former Master couldn’t argue with that. Obi-Wan had not left his side, even when the medical droid had taken his blood pressure and declared his vital signs normal. In the meantime, the day had turned to night outside the window. Anakin had almost forgotten that Coruscant never fully darkened. Out of the corner of his eye, the glittering of city lights reflected in the glass looked like stars.

“So what now?” Anakin said, after a beat, “Are you going to begin reconstruction of the Jedi temple?”

He could feel Obi-Wan’s grip tighten around his chest through the armor. “I don’t know. I was going to send out some holos. In the meantime, I have Bail Organa and a few others incoming to discuss senatorial procedure. They’ll be here in two standard days.”

“Are you restoring the Republic?” Anakin asked.  
Obi-Wan rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know yet. There’s a lot to do.”

They lay in silence for a while, as cool air pulsed out of the vent behind them. The low electric whir of the equipment provided a baseline to snippets of conversation that really needed no further grounding.

“I’ll try to get in contact with a physical therapist soon too,” Obi-Wan said, “Get you walking again.”

“The suit --” Anakin started.

“You have to keep it on. Whatever Palpatine did to your chest on top of those burns -- I thought you’d need assistance breathing. You’re made of something tough, Anakin, tougher than me.”

“What did I say about the self-deprecation?” Anakin’s tone was light. He kissed the top of Obi-Wan’s head.

 

\---

 

They must have fallen asleep. Soft light poured through the window, signifying daybreak even without a sun to confirm it. Cloudy grey had its own startling beauty, though, Anakin thought, ripples of dark and light that hung low over the sharp shroud of buildings.

“Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan pulled himself into a sitting position, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Hm?”

“Has the sky changed since we were last here or am I just noticing it now?”

Obi-Wan looked up, examining what he meant.

“That’s pretty standard, I’d say, Coruscanti grey. Not ideal but you learn to appreciate it. I’m sure we’d both take it over those blazing suns on Tatooine. Although, I did enjoy the sunsets.”

Anakin wrinkled his nose.

“I never paid much attention to the sky at the Temple when I was younger.” He said, “It’s beautiful.”

Obi-Wan looked back up towards the horizon. 

“You were always focused on something else back then. Plus, young people don’t usually have the patience for stargazing.”

Obi-Wan stretched his legs over the edge of the bed and got down, drawing the blinds for a full view of the cityscape. It was beautiful, and bright, and more than anything  _ alive _ \-- with speeders, and adverts and flashing lights. 

“It’s a lot,” Anakin said, “Are you scared?”

“A little bit,” Obi-Wan answered honestly, “but also hopeful.”

“Oh,” said Anakin, lips curling into a small smile, “For what it’s worth, I always thought you’d be good at it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Thanks once more to my fantastic beta editor picavenger14. Without her, this would not have happened. An epilogue may be in store, since open endings are not for everyone. 
> 
> Once again, my tumblr is Kierkegarden. Let me know what you think!


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